


Sins of My Youth

by only_because3



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_because3/pseuds/only_because3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“God, that’s such complete bull, especially coming from you.” Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. “Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel ever more insecure about yourself for like, ever, even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn’t mean sht. Brittany is my best friend. I’ve known her since we were eight. She’s always going to matter, more so now that she… That I’m… That.” She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She’s not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can’t acknowledge something and then pretend it didn’t happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Neon Trees has this album right? You have have heard of it, it's called Habits, and it's really amazing. I was listening to it on a loop a while back and expressed to my friend that it would be a nice concept to explore via Quinn and Santana. She immediately told me that I had to write this and I'm not allowed to quit this story. I had this originally posted on ff.net and my livejournal but figured I would bring it over here since ff.net took it down!

  
  
It’s weird how much this reminds her of before. They’re at Puck’s, a place Quinn has avoided since she moved out of it, and all the usual suspects are there. Even though they’re not Cheerios anymore, they still hold enough rank at the school (and with Puck) to not get any shit for being at a party for jocks and cheerleaders.  
  
    Everyone is drinking, dancing, or both, and she remains on the edge of all of it. Before Santana would’ve ditched her in favor of Brittany or some other faceless jock the moment they walked through the door. Tonight, however, Santana stays next to her, nursing her 3rd cup of beer with her eyes trained on Brittany (who is already half naked on top of the coffee table). Before, Quinn would’ve been yelling at Finn to stop playing beer pong and pay attention to her, but now she doesn’t even bat an eye at her ex-boyfriend. Instead, she stays focused on Puck, who has been stopping by the old bookstore she works at during her shift to bug her. She’s already stopped drinking because two beers in, and she could feel anger rising inside of her and she honestly doesn’t want to fight with anyone tonight, especially if she’s going to have to take care of a weepy Santana.  
  
    She’s not sure if this is ‘growth’ yet.  
  
    “Do you guys even talk anymore,” she asks over the music, watching as Brittany unhooks her bra before turning her attention to the girl next to her.  
  
    Santana licks her lips unconsciously and shrugs. “Not really. Not about anything that matters.”  
  
    She and Santana have never been particularly close. There’s always been a rivalry between the two and they’re almost too alike for their own good. But New York was a bonding experience or whatever, and while she’s not exactly sure if they consider each other friends yet, this summer would be lonely without the other. Quinn spent most of last summer holed up in her room alone and she’s not looking for a repeat. It’s almost a good thing that Santana doesn’t have Brittany to hang out with anymore, but Quinn knows Santana is practically lost without her other half, so she can’t be too happy about not having a repeat of last summer. They’ve been hanging out pretty regularly since they came back from Nationals and obviously they talk (about clothes, gossip, and the merit of horrible reality shows), but the last serious moment they shared was when Santana suggested she cut her hair and that was over a month ago.  
  
    So her asking about Brittany is tentative and cautious, even if the booze in her makes it sound more bitchy than usual.  
  
    Santana downs the rest of her drink before tossing the cup on to the couch next to them. “This party blows.” Her hand snakes under the strap of her bra, pulling out a slightly damaged cigarette and a lighter. Brittany glances at her, a flirty smile on her face, as she holds the unlit cigarette between her lips. The other blonde invites her over with a tilt of her head, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet which makes other things bounce even more invitingly. Quinn elbows her and then _points_ , as if she hadn’t seen the half naked girl she loves invite her over. “No,” she breathes out quietly, shaking her head so Brittany knows her answer too.  
  
    “Why the hell not?” Quinn’s voice is shrill and it makes her head hurt already, even though she’s only had 3 shots and 3 beers.  
  
    She finally flicks open her zippo and lights her cigarette, ignoring the pout that forms on Brittany’s face by turning to look at Quinn so Brittany is just a blur in her peripheral vision. “Can we go now?” Even though it’s a question, she nudges Quinn towards the door before she can answer.  
  
\--  
  
    “I don’t get it.” Santana blows out a stream of smoke before she turns to look at Quinn. “Why didn’t you go ‘dance’ with her?”  
  
    “Why didn’t you talk to Puckerman?” Her answer comes in the form of a glare and she can’t help the smirk that plays on her face.  
  
    Quinn seems to drop it after that and Santana’s glad because there’s too much going on in her head. It’s bad enough when she’s sober, but the fact that she’s more than a little drunk makes it worse. All she can think of is _Brittany, Brittany, Brittany_ (for a split second, she thinks about the Brady Bunch and then grimaces because, really, could she think of a creepier comparison?).  
  
    Usually, when she’s drunk, she emotionally unloads or fucks someone. No matter what she does, that person is, or _was_ , almost always Brittany. But they’ve only had sex twice this summer and Brittany was sad after the first time and just plain mad after the second.  
  
    _“I don’t want you to touch me anymore,” she whispered, her bare back the only thing visible to Santana. “Not when you can’t kiss me in front of our friends.”_  
  
    The problem is, Brittany is an easy drunk. And even though Santana wants (god, does she _want_ ) to touch Brittany again and as good as she knows they’d both feel, Brittany will be upset with herself. Besides, if Santana had actually ditched Quinn in favor of topless Brittany, that’d be like taking advantage of her and Santana’s tired of doing that to the girl she loves. And she supposes it’s kind of shitty to Quinn too.  
  
    She glances over at Quinn briefly, smiling when she notices the blonde carefully avoiding the cracks in the sidewalk. The thought of having extreme word vomit in front of Quinn is in no way appealing. Quinn doesn’t do feelings, even more so than Santana, which actually worries her a lot. Santana may be a bitch but if she were in Quinn’s shoes, she doubts that she’d be able to stand most days, and as fucked up as Quinn is, she’s pretty functional. The only time she’s really seen Quinn break down was in New York and even then she still seemed so… guarded. Santana can only assume that Quinn would stare at her awkwardly if she broke down crying about how much she loves Brittany.  
  
    On the other hand, Santana knows that talking about her shit is more likely to happen than getting in Quinn’s pants. The blonde is decidedly straight, even if she does make Santana’s gaydar ping on occasion (and Santana’s gaydar is nothing short of amazing), and Santana doesn’t really want to have sex with Quinn. She hasn’t wanted to sleep with anyone but Brittany ever since she realized she loved her. But a warm body is a warm body and Quinn is pretty hot.  
  
    Still no where near drunk enough to experiment with her though.  
  
    She lets out a heavy sigh as they approach the Fabray house. Maybe she’ll lock herself in Quinn’s bathroom and cry for a bit. Or get off. She’s not really picky when she’s drunk.  
  
\--  
  
    “I’m kind of surprised you haven’t started crying yet.”  
  
    They’re laying on Quinn’s bed above the covers because it’s hotter than fuck. That’s the reason Quinn’s in an oversized t-shirt (one, Santana guesses, that is left over from her pregnancy) and Santana isn’t in much more than a tank top. They’re both staring at the ceiling and haven’t said much since they laid down, so it surprises Santana a little. She knew Quinn wasn’t asleep but she was hoping that she was getting there because there’s an unfortunate ache in her chest and between her legs and she’d at least like to take care of one before she goes to bed. “Honestly?” Quinn turns her head to look at Santana but she keeps staring up at the crack above Quinn’s bed. “I’m waiting for you to fall asleep.”  
  
    Quinn stops looking at her, but then Santana feels Quinn’s hand brush hers. “I didn’t drink much because I planned on taking care of you.”  
  
    Her faces scrunches. “ _Why_?”  
  
    Quinn shrugs the best she can. “Isn’t that what friends do?”  
  
    “I thought we weren’t those kind of friends.” She’s not trying to be a bitch, but they’ve really never done this. Quinn keeps to herself and Santana’s never needed to have ‘feeling time’ with Quinn. She’s had Brittany for that since she was eight years old and whenever Santana needed to talk about Brittany, she just dealt with it herself.  
  
    Quinn looks at her again and this time Santana turns to look back. “We’re not, but you really don’t have anyone else anymore.” It kind of weirds her out how soft Quinn’s voice is and her only reaction is to say something mean.  
  
    “Have _you_ ever had _anyone_ like that?” There’s no real bite in her words and she blames the booze for making her soft.  
  
    “’Course not. I’ve never had friends,” Quinn laughs and it is so self deprecating that Santana finds herself grabbing Quinn’s hand.  
  
    “Maybe we could try it this summer,” Santana offers as Quinn squeezes her hand once before pulling away.  
  
    “Maybe when we’re drunk.”  
  
    “You make stupid decisions when you’re drunk.”  
  
    “Exactly.”  
  
    Maybe word vomit in front of Quinn wouldn’t be too bad. Santana’s still not eager to find out how that would go down though.  
  
\--  
  
    She wakes up because, somehow, it’s already hotter than it was yesterday and it’s only 7:30. She groans and rolls off the bed, tripping over Santana’s dress as she walks over to her windows. “Shit,” she whispers, her feet falling loudly on the floor. Santana rolls over, mumbling nonsense in her sleep and Quinn sighs in relief when she realizes she didn’t wake the other girl. Santana’s a bitch normally, waking her up before noon on a day when she’s probably hung over is suicide.  
  
    Quinn opens her windows, squinting at the harsh sunlight that pours into the room. She pulls the curtains closed as she hears a faint vibration and she turns to notice Santana’s phone lit up at the foot of the bed. It’s a text from Brittany and without any hesitation, she reads it. She probably shouldn’t and she’d kill Santana if she read her texts, but she can’t help herself. It’s early and she knows she won’t be able to fall back asleep (her sleep patterns have been all kinds of messed up ever since she was pregnant).  
  
   _Did we have sex last night?_  
  
    Quinn rolls her eyes and tosses Santana’s phone back down. She doesn’t really know what’s going on between those two anymore (she’s pretty sure she’s never really understood what went on between them) but the text leaves her with this feeling in the pit of her stomach that she can’t quite make heads or tails of. She doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, but she’s not BrittanyandSantana and that sort of means something to her. She knows they’re going through _something_ , but she’s been spending a lot of time with Santana and hasn’t noticed her going off to sleep with someone else. It’s unsettling knowing that Brittany hasn’t been following suit.  
  
    She decides she’s just hungry and brushes past the fact that what she used to know as fact (Brittany and Santana are _BrittanyandSantana_. No explanation needed) could be a lie.  
  
    Santana rolls over again, eyes blinking open slowly. “It’s too early,” she mumbles, clutching on to her pillow tighter. “It’s before noon isn’t it?”  
  
    “You want breakfast,” Quinn asks as she walks over to her dresser, pulling out a pair of shorts so her mom doesn’t freak out, if she’s actually still home. She grabs a pair for Santana too, tossing them over to the brunette who is still stretched out on her bed, eyes drifting shut more often than not. They land on her hips and Santana lets out a strangled whine.  
  
    “It’s too hot for clothes, Q. Why the fuck don’t you guys have the AC on again? It used to be colder than hell in here when your parents were still together. It explained why you were such a frigid bitch.” She glances at Quinn and resists the urge to close her eyes when Quinn bends over to step into her shorts. Even though she’s not generally attracted to Quinn, she’s got an amazing ass and Santana’s more than a little thankful that Quinn hasn’t changed any of her habits (like changing in front of Santana or letting Santana lounge around in her underwear) now that it’s common knowledge between them that Santana’s more or less gay. It’s obscenely early, her head feels like it’s going to explode, but what little she sees of Quinn’s ass is a surprisingly soothing sight.  
  
    “I think my dad broke it when he came to get the rest of his stuff.” Quinn shrugs, turning around to face Santana. “Brit text you.” She juts her chin out towards Santana’s phone as she grabs two bobby pins, tucking some of her hair behind her ear before pinning it back. “I may have read it.”  
  
    Santana glares at her before turning her glare to the phone in her hand. “ _Awesome_ ,” she breathes out, quickly deleting the message without replying. As it turns out, the morning after not sleeping with Brittany sucks even more than if she had.  
  
    She really shouldn’t be upset. She’s slept with enough guys while she and Brittany were… _whatever_ and right now they’re not anything more than they were then. She had assumed the ‘I love you’ was a game changer, but clearly she was wrong since someone hit it and quit it last night and Brittany doesn’t even remember who. She knows Brittany was drunk last night and she shouldn’t hold it against her, but _fuck_ , shouldn’t Brittany know that Santana never leaves until after Brittany wakes up? They’ve been doing this thing for two years now and never once has Santana left without telling her first.  
  
    She throws her phone down and lays back down, ignoring the fact that Quinn is still staring at her. After last night, she’s not really sure where she and Quinn stand but she doesn’t want to talk about this right now even if Quinn wants to listen. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when I’m done cooking.” She nods against the pillow, thankful that Quinn seems to get it even though they don’t talk.


	2. Chapter 2

Puck’s been coming to the store during her shift, but hasn’t really talked to her. He gave her shit the first time he stopped by (which actually had a purpose. He was buying this cookbook for Mrs. Puckerman that Quinn can vaguely remember the older woman talking about when she still lived there), but has only ever said ‘hey’ and ‘you read this?’ to her since. Mostly he just watches her while he thinks she’s not paying attention and it’s simultaneously creepy and comforting (it’s been a long time since someone’s _looked_ at her and Puck’s somehow always _seen_ her). Today, he walks straight to the counter, leaning on his elbows on the hard wood and effectively scaring the crap out of her when she stands back up with a pile of books in her arms. “Jesus, Puck.” She drops the stack of books on to the counter and pushes her hair behind her ears.  
  
    “You guys do buy backs right?” She nods and then he tosses 3 books down: Twilight (she really hopes Jenna doesn’t continue reading the series), Night by Elie Wiesel, and the baby book he gave her when she was four months along. It makes her breath hitch and one of her hands goes to palm her stomach before she even realizes what she’s doing. Even though it’s physically impossible to feel through the fabric of her shirt, she gets the phantom feeling of her stretch marks under her fingertips and she swallows thickly as Puck just stares at her. “Why didn’t you tell me that you saw her?”  
  
    It’s the same question he asked her when they were in New York, except he sounded mostly sad then. Now, he just sounds angry. “Is that why you’ve been coming in while I’m working,” she asks, nails curling into her stomach. “It’s none of your business who I see.”  
  
    “Of course it’s my business, Quinn. She’s _our_ daughter.”  
  
    “Don’t say that!” The store is big but her breathing is getting shallow, her chest getting tight. It feels like everything is shrinking and she squeezes her eyes shut in an effort to block it out. “She’s _not_ our anything, Puck. And maybe if you’d stop thinking of her as such, I would have told you.”  
  
    Really, she should be upset with Shelby. She invited both of them to Beth’s first birthday and while Puck was more than eager to go, Quinn refused to attend. No matter how much she wanted to, Quinn couldn’t. She needed to keep herself separate from all of that. She _should_ be in therapy when it comes to everything bouncing around in her head but, for right now, she’s trying to figure it out herself. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone else about how fucked up she is. So long as she can label herself, realize just _who_ she is, she’ll be fine. But thinking of all the double meanings the words mother and daughter have to her now isn’t going to help with that. She needs things to be simple, even if they’re not. Shelby may have thought it was a good idea to tell Puck that he deserved some time with Beth because Quinn already had, but it only served to make Puck upset and she just can't think about her child anymore. She’s been trying _so hard_ to just be a teenager and if she starts thinking about last summer, she’ll lose it.  
  
    His jaw tightens and when she opens her eyes, breathing still heavy, she notices just how tight he’s gripping the counter. “You can’t keep pretending none of it happened.”  
  
    She exhales with her entire body. “If I don’t, I’m going to go insane and end up like my mother.” He relaxes, only slightly, and she finally finds herself in control of her body once more. She puts stickers on the inside of each book (bargain blue for Twilight, non fiction green for Night, and self help purple for the baby book) and then taps a few numbers on the register. “I can give you $25 for all 3.”  
  
    He nods and when she goes to give him the money, he closes his hand around hers. He’s gentle but she can still feel the calluses on his palm and fingertips. It’s more comforting than she’s like to admit. “We’re only seventeen,” she whispers sadly.  
  
    She ends up sitting next to him in the middle of two fiction aisles during her lunch break. She doesn’t cry because there’s no point, though she does come close when he apologizes for being a dick earlier. The apology isn’t surprising, he’s apologized to her more times than she thinks anyone else has, it’s the fact that when he goes to press a kiss to her forehead, she tilts her head up just enough that his lips land on hers.  
  
\--  
  
    Because the Fabray household is hotter than hell and she would rather not go home, she sits at the Lima Bean by Quinn’s work while she waits for the blonde to get off. The AC feels amazing and even though the smells are kind of overwhelming (she doesn’t usually leave the house when she has even a mild hangover, but she’s pretty fucking sure she would have passed out from the heat if she stayed at Quinn’s), being alone here instead of alone at Quinn’s or at home is nice. Or it is nice until she notices someone slump down in the seat across from her. She’s peering across the table at the notebook Santana’s been lazily scribbling on and Santana drops her pen as she tugs one earbud out of her ear. “What’re you doing here?”  
  
    Brittany picks up the pen wordlessly and Santana watches as a fat cat appears on the top of her page. “Lord Tubbington misses you,” she says once the outline of the cat is done, going back to make stripes and spots along the large body. Santana glances up at Brittany who looks like she just rolled out of bed and she has the urge to reach across the table and smooth out Brittany’s cowlick. She doesn’t, _can’t_ because touching Brittany isn’t something she can only do in small doses, and instead picks up her coffee and downs what little she has left. “I miss you.”  
  
    Santana arches a brow, looking back down at the doodle on her paper, the corner of her lips turning upward when she sees that Brittany added a duck sitting on the cat. “I didn’t go anywhere, Britt.”  
  
    The blonde purses her lips, like maybe she doesn’t quite believe that, which is _insane_ because if Santana had it her way, she’d already have her head buried between Brittany’s legs. But then her face relaxes and her pinkie hooks around Santana’s as she starts looking at the words scribbled on the page, a smile gracing her features. “You have really pretty writing.” Santana clears her throat, pulling her hand away from Brittany’s and closing her notebook. Brittany’s smile shrinks but doesn’t disappear and she leans back in her seat to give Santana some space. “Did you get my text?”  
  
    Santana nods, pushing her hair behind her shoulder as she turns off her ipod. “Wasn’t me.”  
  
    “Oh.” She sounds sad and Santana _really_ wishes that they weren’t doing this right now. “I didn’t really think so.” She’s staring at Santana’s hand as she runs a hand through her hair, finally flattening the part that had been driving Santana crazy. “You don’t leave without waking me up first.” She looks Santana in the eye then and _fuck_ , Santana has lost any resolve she had last night. “I miss you,” she repeats.  
  
    Santana glances at the clock on the wall behind Brittany. Quinn still has another hour before she gets off. “I miss you too.” Brittany’s smile is back and this time Santana doesn’t pull her pinkie away from Brittany’s when they stand up.  
  
\--  
  
    She didn’t realize how much she missed working off hangovers with Brittany.  
  
    She glances over at Brittany who just made her way back to the top of the bed, smiling when Brittany licks her lips before running the back of her hand over her mouth. It’s not that she doesn’t like just spending time with Brittany, because she would have been fine if they came back to Brittany’s and just lounged around because she would’ve been with Brittany, but this is just so much better than that. It’s the only time Santana ever feels at peace anymore. “How the fuck have I gone over a month without that?”  
  
    Brittany giggles next to her, rolling on to her side and weaving her leg between Santana’s innocently. “You came fast,” she comments, propping her head up on her elbow.  
  
    “It’s been a while.” Brittany hums in response, her face going blank and Santana becomes hyper aware of the sheets she’s laying on. She hadn’t even thought about it when they tumbled into the room. All she could think of was Brittany’s pale skin against hers, Brittany’s blonde hair tangled around her fingers, and the taste of green apple Jolly Ranchers. Now she’s consumed by the faded smell of Axe, the light mark above Brittany’s right breast that she didn’t leave, and the sheets that suddenly feel grimy against her skin. Brittany rolls on top of her gently, pushing her into the mattress that she wants to get off of. She pushes back Santana’s knotted hair and kisses her forehead softly.  
  
    “I just want all of you,” Brittany whispers and Santana nods. She wants that too but she can’t. Not yet, not in this city.  
  
    “I’m sorry.” If she weren’t so god damn love drunk, she’d realize how stupid it is that she’s the one apologizing right now.  
  
\--  
  
    Quinn flops down on the floor next to her. “Have you been drinking?”  
  
    “No, I just have something in my eyes,” she answers dryly, looking over at Quinn when she lets out a bark of laughter. “Who were you sucking face with?” Quinn starts to protest, cheeks turning as red as her lips, but Santana shakes her head. “Just because you won’t call me out on crying sober doesn’t mean I will. Who was it? Puckerman? He get up your skirt too?” Quinn knuckle punches her in her arm, _hard_ , and she holds her arm. “ _Fuck_ , Q.”  
  
    “Do you remember that one coach we had at cheer camp the summer before sophomore year?”  
  
    Santana drums her fingers on her stomach, eyebrows scrunching as she thinks. “You mean the one who was all about bonding? I think Coach Sylvester had her killed after camp was over.”  
  
    “I heard that she was the mystery meat sophomore year,” Quinn replies, pulling her bobby pins from her hair. “Anyway, do you remember that stupid game she made us play? Fact or fiction?”  
  
    “God, that game was awful. Nobody said anything interesting to a group of strangers. It’s social suicide.” Santana runs her thumb under her eyes, wiping away any mascara that may have run, before rolling on to her side to face Quinn. “Why?” Quinn bites her bottom lip, suddenly becoming fascinated with the bobby pins she removed from her hair. “Ugh. Really, Quinn?”  
  
    Quinn shrugs. “Would it really be that bad to share under the pretense of a game?” Santana sighs heavily and falls on to her back again. “C’mon. We both know that we can’t just say things to each other and I don’t think I can take another afternoon talking to you about _Jersey_.”  
  
    “Look, I know it’s trashy but it’s _good_ television.”  
  
    Quinn rolls her eyes. “You think it’s good tv because _you’re_ trashy.”  
  
    Now Quinn is the one clutching her arm. “Fact: You’re a bitch.”  
  
    “That’s not how you play! I’m supposed to ask fact or fiction,” Quinn complains, looking down at her reddening arm. “You’re not trashy _anymore_.”  
  
    “Whatever. I pick fact, _Quinnie_.”  
  
    Quinn wrinkles her nose at the use of her mother’s nickname for her. “I have a problem kissing other people’s boyfriends,” she says quietly. She looks over at Santana who thankfully does her the courtesy of staring up at her ceiling. Santana’s face doesn’t change, probably because she’s not surprised, but saying it out loud make Quinn’s stomach churn uncomfortably. “Fiction.”  
  
    “I didn’t sleep with Brittany today,” Santana breathes out, eyes closing as Quinn’s widen.  
  
    “What changed between last night and today?”  
  
    “Just because I agreed to play this game with you, doesn’t mean we’re going to have some fucking sappy sharing time,” she snaps. “It was a mistake anyway.”  
  
    “Fair enough.” She wouldn’t share more details about Puck if Santana asked, so why should she expect more just because this is about _Brittany_? Quinn runs a hand through her hair, twirling a chunk of her hair in her fingers once she reaches the tips.  
  
    It’s not like she can’t guess what’s going on between them. Brittany cornered her at the party last weekend. It’s not unsettling to be left alone with Brittany (though she’s pretty sure she could count on one hand all the times that’s happened), just overwhelming because Quinn just can’t deal with _that_ most days. Plus drunk Brittany is even harder to be around, not only because she’s more in-your-face, she’s _naked_ in-your-face. Some days it feels like she’s seen Brittany’s boobs more than her own. She reeked of vodka and sweat and practically talked into Quinn’s mouth. “Where is Santana? I miss my sweet lady kisses.” Quinn nodded and tried to discreetly lean Brittany on to Mike but she just wrapped her arm tighter around her waist. “I think I’m mad at her though. I can’t remember sometimes.”  
  
    What Quinn had taken for drunken nonsense clicked now that Santana’s reacting like this after sleeping with Brittany and she’d be lying if she didn’t hate Brittany a little for it.  
  
     “Why are you on the floor,” she asks after a bit, once her head starts to hurt and fill with ideas of Brittany and Santana not working out because of _Brittany_ instead of Santana.  
     
    “ _God_ , what is with all these fucking questions?” Santana pushes herself up, looking down at Quinn who remains unfazed by her little shit fit. “Can we still go to Puck’s party tonight? Or did you rip him a new one after you made out with him?”  
  
    “I’m sorry, did I look like the raging bitch when I walked in?” Quinn gets up too, going a step further and standing up. She pulls off her shirt and walks over to her closet. “We better be going to Puck’s. I can’t deal with you when you’re like this sober anymore.”  
  
\--  
  
    “Brittany’s a cunt,” Quinn slurs, trying once again to avoid the cracks on their walk home. She’s not sure when they agreed that one of them would remain sober at parties (they haven’t gotten drunk _together_ since the first party of the summer), but here she is, almost completely sober, holding Quinn up when she takes too big a step and as a result, twists her ankle.  
  
    “Don’t call her that,” Santana says softly, pushing Quinn’s hand down when the blonde tries to untangle herself from her.  
  
    “Why not? You may be stupid but you don’t deserve her… Her…” Quinn frowns, looking down at the crack she stepped on. “Oh no.”  
  
    Santana watches Quinn, equally confused and curious by her friend (she’s still not sure if that’s the appropriate word to describe them) who has stopped walking and is now resting most of her weight against Santana. “You’re so fucking weird.”  
  
    Quinn looks back up quickly, eyes wide and head tilted to the side in a way that reminds her of Brittany. “I forgot you were here.”  
  
    “How much did you have to drink?” Quinn shrugs and starts walking, shakily, once more.  
  
    “Cuntiness,” Quinn breathes out, head nodding confidently. “I think that accurately sums up how Brittany is treating you.”  
  
    “I didn’t know you were actually capable of saying the word cunt,” Santana muses, turning them up the walk way to Quinn’s house. “It’s weird hearing you say it. If you remember this tomorrow, are you going to wake me up with ‘Hail Mary’s?”  
  
    Quinn snorts, actually _snorts,_ before cackling as they walk into the house. “I haven’t prayed in like,” she looks down at her hand, fingers dipping towards her palm and lips releasing soft sounds as she counts to herself. “One year and eight days.”  
  
    “How do you _know_ that?” Quinn shrugs again as Santana leans her against the staircase while she goes to lock the door. “You should probably eat something. If you throw up, I will _not_ help you.”  
  
    “S’okay. No one helped me when I was pregnant and my vomit was spontaneous instead of controlled.” Santana pauses at the door, hand gripping the top lock. Quinn doesn’t talk about last year. She hasn’t heard Quinn mention anything about being pregnant since she _was_ pregnant, save for the time that she asked that mall Santa for something to help with stretch marks. Hell, for the bulk of this past year, Quinn pretended _Puck_ didn’t exist. And, yeah, Santana’s been a bitch about it. She’s brought up the baby in numerous shitty ways and as a result, face planted in the middle of JFK.  
  
    (She said something about the baby on the plane. She honestly doesn’t remember why she said it or what exactly she said, but Quinn had traded seats after that with some random passenger in the back of the plane. When they landed and Quinn reluctantly joined their group on the way to baggage claim, the bitch actually _tripped_ her. Puck helped her up as Quinn continued walking with that evil smile that reminds Santana a lot of the stepmother in Cinderella, and asked her to back the fuck off when it came to the baby. “She turned one last week,” he whispered harshly in her ear. “Quinn doesn’t give you shit about your fucked up decisions when it comes to Brittany so _lay off_.” It was one of the least threatening things Puck has ever said to her, but, _of course_ , was enough to make her pull her head out of her ass.)  
  
    Ever since then, Santana really has tried to avoid the subject because she really can’t stop her mouth once it starts going. It’s easy and hard at the same time because Santana knows she can bring up that Quinn lived with Puck and Mercedes, can even bring up that Quinn’s water totally broke all over Judy’s shoes (because that’s still one of the few things that Quinn can genuinely laugh at), but she can’t mention the assortment of summer dresses hidden in the back of Quinn’s closet or the breastfeeding bras shoved in her underwear drawer (Santana doesn’t actually understand why Quinn owns those because it wasn’t like she breastfed, but she chalks it up to just not knowing shit when it comes to pregnancy). The closest she’s come to talking about it out loud since Nationals was when she asked Quinn if she let Puck bone her again in between her second and third drink tonight. So this, hearing _Quinn_ bring up the portion of sophomore year that didn’t happen, is kind of fucking crazy, even if she is drunk.  
  
    “Did you know I went through my entire morning sickness phase here? And neither of my parents said _shit_?” Quinn never curses so it kind of makes Santana want to smirk but the blonde’s getting angry fast and Santana isn’t looking to be slapped (though she’s pretty sure Quinn would fall over if she tried). “You _know_ I can’t throw up quietly but they still looked the other way. Not that I expected them to notice. I’ve been sticking my finger down my throat ever since cheer camp sophomore year.”  
  
    Santana did _not_ have enough drinks for this. “Your parents sucks. This isn’t new, Quinn.”  
  
    Quinn looks at Santana, a lot like she did after she stepped on the crack outside, as the brunette throws her arm around her shoulders. “Brittany sucks too.” Santana rolls her eyes. “What? You said I shouldn’t call her a cunt. Saying she sucks is more appropriate.”  
  
    “She doesn’t suck,” Santana says quietly as she gets them into the kitchen without much fanfare.  
  
    “I’m drunk and don’t care, S. You can tell me that she sucks and I probably won’t even remember later.” Santana sets her down at the table (she briefly considers putting her in a seat at the counter but she’s seen Quinn fall off those stools sober) before going over to the massive fridge that Judy always keeps stocked. “You _love_ her and you, McKinley’s biggest whore, hasn’t slept with anyone else since like… Well, I at least know you haven’t since Sam but I’d put money on it being longer than that.” She pulls out two plates of leftovers (Santana’s is actually marked with her name because Judy knows that she prefers her mashed potatoes with cheese while Quinn prefers hers plain), ignoring the whore comment (because well, it was true once upon a time) and refusing to look at the blonde who is staring at her expectantly.  
  
    “I get why she’s doing this. Yeah, for me it does suck, but I can’t blame her.” She pulls the saran wrap off of Quinn’s plate and slides it in front of the blonde, grabbing a fork from the dishwasher and handing it to her.  
  
    “You love her too much,” Quinn says right before she shovels half of her mashed potatoes into her mouth.  
  
    “That’s clearly not true. If it were, I’d be fucking Brittany right now.”  
  
    Quinn shakes her head as she tears off a small piece of grilled chicken. The entire meal tastes gross cold, but she knows that she’ll throw up if she eats it hot. “I think you should at least have the balls to be gay and what not in Glee. The school though? Or, you know, public, isn’t okay. Your parents would totally find out, especially since your mom is usually home now, and they’ll kick you out.” Quinn takes another bite. “You would do _anything_ else for her. That should be enough.”  
  
    Santana picks at her plate, ignoring the fact that her phone vibrates in her pocket. “It’s not fair to her.”  
  
    “It’s not fair that you want a roof over your head? That you want to pretend that mommy and daddy _really_ love you for another year?” Quinn laughs and Santana is quickly learning she hates drunk Quinn. “It was one thing when she was dating Artie but now she’s fucking someone at every party she goes to. _That_ isn’t fair to you.”  
  
    Santana shakes her head. “She shouldn’t have to wait for me to figure my shit out.”  
  
    Quinn rolls her eyes. “You’re almost as stupid as Finn.”  
  
    “You know what’s stupid? Letting Puck feel you up on your break today.” Quinn knuckle punches her hard in her arm again and even though Santana wants to clutch the throbbing portion of her arm, she just smirks. “You drunk enough to talk about that?”  
  
    “Nope,” she answers tightly, taking another bite of her mashed potatoes. “And that wasn’t stupid.”  
  
    “Really? You think that fucking around with Puck again is a smart and you called me _stupid_?”  
  
    “I don’t want to talk about this, Santana.”  
  
    “Because you know I’m right.”  
  
    Quinn finishes her potatoes and licks her fork clean. “Just like you know I’m right about Brittany.”  
  
    It’s kind of creepy how a like they are sometimes.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

  
Brittany keeps texting her.  
  
    She hasn’t fallen asleep yet, partly because her phone keeps vibrating obnoxiously loud with every text she gets and partly because she’s genuinely worried about Quinn throwing up in her sleep and then drowning in it. She’s _exhausted_ and talking to Brittany anymore today is just going to fuck with her head. She barely saw her at the party and after Quinn’s drunken rant, she’s really not looking to talk about the fact that she was clearly going to cry as she got re-dressed before leaving Brittany’s earlier.  
  
    Her phone buzzes again, just as Quinn rolls on to her back, and Santana groans as she opens her eyes. She rolls Quinn back on her side with ease, reaching over the sleeping girl to grab her phone. The first three texts from Brittany are just ways of getting her attention ( _‘S?’, ‘San?’, ‘Santana…’_ ), but after the fourth one they get longer, the spelling perfect which lets Santana know Brittany is drunk off her ass.  
  
   _‘You looked sad when you left.’  
  
    ‘I didn’t see you at the party.’  
  
    ‘S, are you ignoring me? :(’  
  
    _And the last one? _‘I love you Santana Lopez.’_  
  
    She’s already sent back ‘I love you too’ before she even realizes it. Brittany always seems to have that effect on her and she hates it. She’s 17 years old and being so dependant on someone else nauseates her. It’s a total Bella Swan mentality and Santana watched ‘New Moon’. That bitch was crazy _and_ stupid. Santana loves Brittany, is pretty damn sure she loves her more than anyone else on the entire planet, but she’s not about to make a tragedy out of a romance. But, when she can admit it to herself, she feels like she’s suffocating without Brittany. She knows it’s an unhealthy feeling but the blonde has been by her side since she was eight years old. She was her first everything and Brittany just… She _gets_ it. Or, at least, she used to.  
  
    Santana doesn’t want to feel like this. She’s _independent_. When her mother was still around to actually raise her, that was one thing she always emphasized. “Don’t let dick control you, Santana.” She was six when she first heard that phrase leave her mother’s mouth and she had no idea what the fuck it meant. That was right around the time her parents separated and her mom went to California for a year. Her parents eventually got back together but her mom always seemed to reiterate that point. Whenever Santana would offhandedly talk of boys or the future and if her parents were ever fighting, her mother would turn to her and express that independence was the most important thing to possess as a woman. “ _You_ make something of yourself. If you’re successful enough, you can give yourself everything you could ever want. Money and power _will_ get you everything.” She used to spend a lot of time wondering why the fuck her mother got married and had her if that was how she really felt, but eventually she just applied it to the high school hierarchy. Her mother was right about the money and power and she _knows_ that taking it to the extreme that her mother preached, is just as unhealthy at her hopeless devotion to Brittany.  
  
    Her face scrunches up when she recognizes the damn Grease reference in her head. Berry really needed to stop with that shit. She sighs heavily next to Quinn, who snores loudly once and tries to roll on to her back once more. She ends up digging into Santana’s hip and then her own face scrunches before she curls into fetal position, her spine the only thing left against Santana’s bent knee.  
  
    Santana likes being independent. Whole-heartedly believes in everything that her mother and Destiny’s Child taught her. And it’s not that Brittany hinders that. When they were whatever the fuck they were, they each still did their own thing because, at the end of the day, it was just them. She’s just not too sure how to balance those two things just yet. She’s not even sure how to really _be_ with Brittany yet.  
  
    Her phone buzzes in her hand and she look down to see that she has another message from Brittany. It says I’m sorry and then a picture pops up of Brittany’s bare chest. She can’t see her entire face but her smirk is visible and, yeah, Quinn might have to deal with laying in her throw up if this goes where she thinks it’s going to.  
  
     _‘What are you doing, S?’_  
  
    She props every pillow she can find _and_ her duffle bag behind Quinn so Santana doesn’t come back to find her dead, before sneaking into the bathroom. She slumps down on the floor, her back against the cool tub and texts Brittany that they should be quick because she’s on vomit duty. It’s one of the least sexiest lead ins to sexting _ever_ but it’s almost physically impossible to turn Brittany off and she gets back a happy face before another picture pops up, this time of a pale hand between pale thighs, fingers visibly wet. “ _Christ_ ,” Santana whispers, her hand slipping into her underwear as she saves the picture with her free hand.  
  
    They’re done almost fifteen minutes later and not only are her underwear completely soaked through, she also has five more pictures of Brittany saved in her phone. She’s tempted to make the last one, where Brittany’s sucking clean on of her thickly coated fingers and Santana can see just what her words did on the blonde’s hand, her locked screen so that Quinn doesn’t feel the need to check her texts again. But she really doesn’t want any more people seeing that part of Brittany.  
  
     _God_ , why did she have to remind herself of that?  
  
    When she stops to think about it, she’s not mad at all. Brittany is single and free to see or fuck whoever she wants. Santana is too, she just doesn’t want to. Brittany is it for her, even if she can’t shout it from the mountaintops yet. Santana can wait until she’s ready and sometimes it really just feels like a slap in the face that Brittany can’t.  
  
     _‘You’re my best everything S.’_  
  
    She stands up to wash her hands and then splashes cold water on her face. She spends the next 10 minutes convincing herself she isn’t crying.  
  
\--  
  
    She doesn’t have to look at the clock to know it’s 6:30. She’s woken up at this time everyday for almost two years now without fail, though she’s not completely sure why. At first she thought it was hormonal but everything has long since leveled out and she’s stopped questioning it. She just wishes that her body would realize sleep is beneficial when it feels like an elephant is sitting on her head.  
  
    She attempts to roll on to her back but meets resistance and she looks over her shoulder to see Santana asleep on _her_ back. Normally they don’t sleep close enough to really touch, but then Quinn remembers half the bottle of tequila she poured down her throat last night and lets out a horrible tasting breath. She wonders how hard Santana would laugh if she legitimately wrote a ‘Thank you for making sure I didn’t die’ card.  
  
    The more she lays there, the more last night comes back to her and she’d wrinkle her face if she didn’t think it’d make her head feel worse. It’s a known fact that she’s a bitch but she really never planned on telling Santana most of the things that fell out of her mouth last night. Not that she didn’t mean it, because she meant every word, but she really isn’t someone who should be giving relationship advice. Plus, it’s Brittany and Santana, and their dynamic has never been normal. What Quinn thinks of as ridiculous could work for them and who is she to question that?  
  
    Except Quinn knows it’s not. She and Santana may not talk much, but Quinn isn’t stupid. Santana isn’t okay.  
  
    Quinn rolls over, her hand stabilizing herself on the bedside table as she stands up. Her world spins for a moment and her stomach lurches before everything seems to settle. She’s tired but walks slowly to her closet, just like she does every morning 6:30 is just too early for her to do anything else. She sits down in the middle of her closet and pulls out a plain cardboard box from under her winter clothes. There’s no writing or print on it and the flaps don’t quite close all the way because she’s never taped them down and she doesn’t know how to close boxes without adhesive. She can’t see inside it but she has everything in the box memorized. Ultrasounds and hospital bracelets, records of birth and legal papers detailing the biggest decision she’ll probably ever make. There are pictures, so many pictures. Not a lot of when she was fat and swollen. Those are far and few in between, showing just how much her life changed in six months. A picture of her with Brittany and Santana in this house, in this room, and her stomach not visible quite yet at 3 months. Then there are two or three pictures of her when she lived at Finn’s and those are pictures she rarely looks at (not that she looks at any of them very much). A lot of the pictures are from Glee events or when she lived with the Puckerman’s because Puck’s mom was camera happy, even if she did hate what was happening. There’s quite a few from when she lived with Mercedes too but none of those out weigh all the hundreds there are of _after_.  
  
    After is what hurts and confuses her the most.  
  
    Her hand goes beneath her shirt (she can’t remember if she changed into this or if Santana helped her) and runs a finger down one of her stretch marks. His hand went straight for that spot. It wasn’t surprising since he’s seen her stomach almost as much as herself, was the one who found her crying when she woke up one morning to two angry red marks straight down her stomach. His thumb kept tracing the line until they finally pulled apart but she still felt him, just like she still sometimes thought she felt the pressure of something pushing on her from the inside out.  
  
    They weren’t the best, not by far, but it was the most Quinn ever had. Sometimes it was weird because, more often than not, he did his thing while she did hers, but somehow whatever they had worked for her. For them. Until, well, it didn’t. They’re both kind of at fault for that. She pushed him away for obvious reasons he’ll probably never know about and he dealt in the only way he knew how, which is why he ended up in juvie. Today could mean nothing and Santana could be right about her being an idiot. After all, Puck isn’t even hers anymore, never really was to begin with.  
  
    She looks back down at the box, sees the corner of the thin hospital issue blanket poke out slightly and feels that sinking alone feeling she’s felt almost her entire life. Even if this blows up in her face, even if she shouldn’t be messing things up for him again, he makes her feel something and she needs that right now.  
  
    She hears a soft grunt behind her and she places her hands on top of the box, gently tucking the blanket down without looking inside. Tan legs appear next to her, a foot coming to poke a corner of it curiously. She looks up to see a blurry Santana staring down at her. She doesn’t say anything, just bends down and helps her up, arm going around Quinn’s waist securely. She goes to say something, though she’s not quite sure what, but Santana cuts her off by shaking her head. “No words. Just sleep. It’s fucking 7 am on a Sunday.” She sets Quinn down on the edge of the bed before crawling back to her side.  
  
\--  
  
    The next time she wakes up it’s a few minutes past noon and she forces herself to get up. She hates sleeping in so late and even though she could use a few more hours, pushes herself up. Her head still hurts but her growling stomach is a bigger concern and she very proudly makes it downstairs, only tripping once near the bottom. It’s quiet, signaling that her mother is still at church and she’s free to make the greasiest breakfast she can.  
  
    The oil is already warming up and she’s half way through chopping the potatoes when she hears a chiming behind her. She quickly dices the last three potato halves on the counter and dumps them into the frying pan before following the sound to Santana’s purse. It’s filled to the brim with crap. She’s pretty sure _all_ of Santana’s make up is there, along with a notebook she’s never seen, a water bottle, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, her sunglasses, her wallet, a few tampons, and her birth control pills. She has no idea how Santana always seems to grab everything on the first try because she practically dumps the purse on the table just to find the phone. “Hello?”  
  
    There’s a pause on the other line and Quinn is about to pull the phone away from her ear to check who it is when she hears a confused, “Brittany?”  
  
    “No. It’s Quinn, Mrs. Lopez.”  
  
    She hears the other woman clear her throat on the other end of the line. “Sorry Quinn. I’m just so used to Brittany answering Santana’s phone.” Quinn hums in response as she walks back over to the stove, flipping her potatoes as Mrs. Lopez continues. “How have you been? Santana tells me you’re working in the bookstore down on 12th.”  
  
    “I’ve been good. Working at the bookshop is nice. Not very busy, which leaves me plenty of time to actually bring some sort of order to it.” Mrs. Lopez politely laughs on the other end, though it’s different than the one her own mother uses. This one is more warm, a hint of caring underneath it. “How are you? Enjoying your more lenient schedule?”  
  
    “It’s nice to be able to spend more time here with Santana, even if she does spend most of her time out. I do miss working though.” Quinn doesn’t really know how to respond to that and instead focuses on the food in front of her silently until Mrs. Lopez sighs lightly. “Santana isn’t up yet is she?”  
  
    “Not yet.”  
  
    “Lazy bones,” Mrs. Lopez breathes out and Quinn shuts off the burner. “Have her call me, will you?”  
  
    “Of course, Mrs. Lopez.” She ends the call and tosses the phone back into Santana’s purse when she notices that notebook again. It’s not standard size but it’s also not small enough to just hold grocery lists, not that Santana would make a grocery list anyway, and Quinn glances back at the doorway before opening it. She doesn’t do much more than skim through it, only stopping to read lyrics that are scribbled all over the pages. Some she can place, others she can’t, and she wonders if it’s because she’s never heard the song or if Santana’s been trying something a little deeper than ‘Trouty Mouth’. Most pages are filled to the brim with words and she stops reading after the first line. It’s a journal. _Santana_ keeps a journal. It’s not entirely surprising but she feels like shit for even opening it now. Lyrics and text messages are one thing but such plain and candid thoughts are not something she’s going to look over without permission.  
  
    She hears a door close behind her and she jumps, shutting the notebook and turning to find her mother looking at her curiously. “You’re still in your pajamas,” she observes and Quinn tugs at the bottom of her shirt as her mother looks over at the stove, her face pinching. “That smells horrendous.”  
  
    It doesn’t actually, because Quinn learned to cook from her mother and so she knows how to season, but it’s Judy’s backhanded way of saying that it smells like something that will clog her pores and pack fat on her thighs. “Did you see _Dad_ at church?”  
  
    Judy’s hands run along her skirt, smoothing out the barely there wrinkles. “I see him every Sunday, Quinn. You would too if you ever joined me at a service.” She wants to laugh but she doesn’t, because the woman standing across the room from her is still her mother and that means she is granted a certain level of respect, even when Quinn doesn’t think she deserves it.  
  
    Still, the only respect she gives her is a slight tip of her head before she goes back to the stove and makes two plates for her and Santana.  
  
\--  
  
    She walks into her room, balancing two plates on her arm, to find Santana stretched out on her bed and her TV already on some horrible reality show. “I know your mom sucks or whatever,” Santana starts, propping herself up against the headboard as she lowers down the TV, “But you really have no idea how thankful I am that she taught you how to cook.”  
  
    Quinn rolls her eyes as she hands Santana her plate, sitting down next to her. “I kind of think my mom’s regretting that right now. I half thought she was going to flip the plates when I passed her downstairs.” Santana doesn’t respond, doesn’t really know how to other than reiterating for the millionth time that, yeah, her mom sucked, so she just balances her plate on her knee and grabs the pill bottle from the bed side table.  
  
    “Take two now that you’ve eaten something.” Quinn takes a huge bite of her cheese less potatoes (she doesn’t know how the hell Quinn manages to go without cheese when it comes to potatoes. For Santana, it’s like peanut butter going with jelly. It was one of the few things Santana never denied herself, even on Sue’s crazy fucking diet.), accepting the Aleve from Santana’s outstretched hand. She tosses them back just like she’s seen Judy do numerous times and Santana shifts uncomfortably as she offers Quinn her glass of water. Sometimes it’s hard for Santana to see how Judy raised Quinn because she knows just how different Quinn can be from both of her parents. But then there are times, like this entire last year of school, and small things, like tossing back pills as if it’s nothing, where Santana really see the effect on Quinn.  
  
    “Oh, your mom called while I was cooking,” Quinn says between bites, causing Santana to blink.  
  
    She lets an irritated hum escape her throat and it makes Quinn turn her attention from her food to Santana. “Q,” Santana breathes out and Quinn arches an eyebrow.  
  
    “I didn’t say anything.”  
  
    “You don’t have to.” Santana stabs at her potatoes, still a little irritated but allows a small smirk to play on her lips. “Does this mean we’re friends now that I can read you or some sappy bullshit like that?”  
  
    Quinn almost chokes on her bite of food, the sound of her laughter following a few rough coughs. “I guess we can be friends since you cared enough to make sure I didn’t die.”  
  
    Santana weighs her head from side to side as she chews. “Actually, I’m not sure I want to be friends. Keeping you alive was _a lot_ of work.” Quinn goes to shove her but Santana slaps her hand away. “And that shit. You hit me way too much for me to actually want to be friends with you.”  
  
    “Sorry I can’t ‘hit’ you like Britt did.” Santana’s eyes widen, gaping at Quinn’s completely straight face. It’s not until Quinn finishes the last two bites on her plate that the corners of her lips upturn slightly.  
  
    “Who knew Quinn Fabray would have such a sense of humor,” Santana drawls, shoveling half of the potatoes on her plate on to Quinn’s. She was hungry but she’s not hung over and the grease is kind of overwhelming sober.  
  
    “These have cheese,” Quinn obviously points out and Santana just rolls her eyes. There’s a lull then, and they sit side by side while they finish eating, only talking about which Kardashian is their favorite and other equally unimportant bullshit. It’s a little weird because they’ve been doing this all summer but for some reason it sort of feels different today. She’s not sure why, because what happened last night shouldn’t be a game changer, wouldn’t be if this were 3 months ago, back when they didn’t give two shits about one another.  
  
     _Fuck_. She can feel her face twist in distaste because she just realized the reason it feels different is because she actually _cares_ now. Caring complicates things (see: Brittany) and they have never been the type of people to ask _anyone_ how they were holding up. She sighs and relaxes her face. She guesses that giving a shit about an equally uncaring Quinn isn’t _that_ bad, especially since she’s all Santana really has left.  
  
    She looks over at Quinn, noticing with a smirk that the blonde actually ate the cheesy parts, before stretching her legs out in front her. “It’s weird having her back.” Quinn would’ve brought it back to this anyway, whether she asked two seconds from now or pried after Santana inevitably calls back her mom. She keeps her focus on the tv, making it clear that her admitting this isn’t a big deal and not an opening for a dialogue, and leans against Quinn’s headboard, the bar digging uncomfortably between her shoulder blades. “She hasn’t been home this long in over three years and she’s trying to bond or whatever.” The too little, too late goes unsaid.  
  
    “At least she cares,” Quinn replies softly, taking Santana’s plate and stacking it on top of her own.  
  
    “You don’t have anything to hide.” Quinn looks her then and Santana can see the itching of a frown on her face from the corner of her eye. “I think your dad stopped by this morning,” she says, pushing the attention off of herself. “I saw his car out front when I went downstairs earlier.”  
  
    Quinn shifts next to her and Santana glances to see her setting the plates on the floor next to her bed before sitting back up right. “He probably took her to church.”  
  
    Quinn leaves it at that and Santana waits exactly ten seconds before her features furrow and she bitches out, “ _Why_?”  
  
    She shrugs, bringing a hand to rub her temple. “Neither of them actually filed for divorce… I give it six months max before he moves back in.”  
  
    Santana runs her tongue over her lips before glancing at the TV, which is only playing another rerun of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. “Come on,” she says, pushing herself off the bed. “We’re not going to waste your day off here, in a house that will eventually become hotter than fuck.”  
  
    Quinn just watches as Santana goes over to her dresser, opening up the drawer she somehow claimed as her own earlier in the summer. “What are we going to do?”  
  
    “Movies, mall, _somewhere_ not by our parents.” Santana strips off her top before throwing on a tank top, turning around to snap her fingers. “C’mon. Get up.” She grumbles but does it anyway, walking over to her closet as Santana slips into a pair of cutoffs. It’s unusually quiet and Santana pokes her head into the closet to find Quinn staring at the box she had shoved back in its spot after Quinn went back to sleep.  
  
    “Did you look?”  
  
    Santana shakes her head even though Quinn isn’t looking at her. “Figured there was more there than some stupid text message.”  
  
    Quinn nods, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. It takes another second or so for Quinn to roll her shoulders and then spin on her heel. “I’ll be dressed by the time you’re done with your make up.”  
  
\--


	4. Chapter 4

Today, Santana stops by before Puck. "Hey loser." She drops a paper bag on the counter in front of Quinn, who eagerly looks into it, smiling when she smells the bacon. "You didn't grab a lunch, so I figured I'd be nice or some shit like that."  
  
"You sure you're not trying to cock block me," she teases, moving a few napkins out of the way to reveal her BLT.  
  
Santana grins. "You've spent too much time with me and Puck if you're talking like that sober now." Quinn rolls her eyes as she drops the bag next to her purse at her feet. "And no, that's actually not why I stopped by. I'm meeting up with Brittany in 10." Quinn wrinkles her nose and Santana knocks over the stack of books she was sorting. "Don't do that." They hadn't talked too much about it the other day, Quinn only saying that she was sorry she completely shit on Brittany but she didn't exactly take back anything she said.  
  
"I stand by my drunken statements," Quinn responds as she glares at the heap of books on the counter. "Unless she's telling you something new-"  
  
"I _really_ don't want to fucking hear it, Q. You keep talking about this, I keep asking about Puck." Quinn shuts up and then Santana lets out a breath. "I still can't believe you work here. It smells like ass."  
  
"I love the way these books smell." Quinn picks up a worn paperback, holding it in front of Santana's face as she fans the pages. Santana backs away from the counter as Quinn laughs triumphantly. "You're not a reader," she says with a simple shrug. "You've always been more into music. It's why you smiled for a split second when I told you we were infiltrating Glee."  
  
Santana starts rummaging through some of the bins with the newer books they have, leaving Quinn to resume her sorting. "I should take you to this record store on the outskirts of town. You'll probably think it smells weird but only because it smells like pot."  
  
Quinn watches Santana carefully, glancing over at the clock briefly. "We could go after I get off, if you're done talking to Brittany." Santana nods, noncommittally, picking up a copy of Twilight before tossing it into the garbage next to the counter. "That was $2.50." Santana pulls out a 5 and throws it at Quinn. "S…"  
  
Santana looks at the clock when Quinn does before letting out a breath. "I know, Quinn. I'll text you when we're done."  
  
Quinn nods and when Santana opens the door asks, "It'd be easier if we were normal friends, wouldn't it? Friends who, you know, talked when they weren't drunk."  
  
"Probably but we don't really do things by the book do we?" She gives Quinn a small smile before ducking out of the store.  
  
\--  
  
"We shouldn't have done that." She turns around, eyes wide beneath her glasses, in the middle of their self help section.  
  
"Uh," she starts, pushing her glasses on top of her head as she moves all the books in her hands into the crook of her arm. One slips and he catches it, earning him a small smile. "A hello would be nice, but I'll accept that instead." She takes the cookbook and shoves it into its rightful place on the shelf, glancing at him once more before putting most of the books in her arms on the cart next to her. "What is it you're talking about?" The next book is about yoga and her glasses drop down to the bridge of her nose as she tries to pass him. The aisles are narrow so not touching is nearly impossible, even as she pushes the books into her gut to try and limit the amount she touches him.  
  
"You're not stupid," he grits out just as she passes him, his breath warming her skin. He's irritated but there is that same underlying tone he always uses with her, one that no one else has used with her. It's a sort of softness most wouldn't believe he's capable of and it almost runs a shiver down her spine. "I have a girlfriend."  
  
She can't suppress the urge to roll her eyes. "You of all people should know that isn't a problem for me… Never used to be for you either." She pries two books apart and slips in the well work yoga book before searching two shelves up for the proper space to file the next book.  
  
"I'm not like that anymore." It stings more than it should and her mouth fills with hatred for him, maybe a little resentment, and self loathing that never disappeared, even after her old nose and fat did. She bites the inside of her cheek to quell the urge to push him away, exhaling through her nose and rising to her tip toes. She angles the book on the edge of the wood, trying in vain to push it into its place without it falling back on her face. He sighs and covers her hand, the book finding purchase on the old wood. "Can you talk to me now?"  
  
She pushes her glasses into her hair again, fixing him with a glare. "I'm kind of working. Maybe you should try talking to me outside of this bookstore."  
  
He pulls his phone out. "Take your lunch now so we can talk."  
  
"What is there to talk about?" She brushes past him, looking through her books for ones on this side of the aisle. "I don't know if you realize this, but _I'm_ not dating anyone. If you were going to get guilty, you should've put a stop to us making out for 15 minutes." She picks up a book at random, unable to read the title without her glasses, and looks at him with her hip cocked out. "I'm not asking for anything from you. In fact, you have been the one pursuing me. I have nothing to offer you anymore Puck. If you came here to tell me not to read too much into what happened, then you wasted your time. I learned a long time ago not to expect much from you."  
  
"Fuckin' a, Quinn," he sighs, running his hand through his grown out mohawk. "I _know_ I used to be an asshole, but you weren't a fucking saint either. I really tried my best, even when you tried to keep me out of the picture. My best wasn't great but what did you fucking expect when you cut me down every five seconds? Who was there for you when Finn was dicking around? Who was there when Finn kicked you out? Who provided for you for moths? I snuck you bacon countless times and sat with your crazy ass at 4 am while you cried over stretch marks." Her chest is starting to feel tight again and the aisles seem to be closing in on her. She can't talk about any of this without wanting to throw up. "You never gave me a chance, Quinn. After all the shit we put each other through for months, we were _okay_. We had finally got to a good point and you just left." He shakes his head, gripping the hair on the curve of his head tightly and his body deflates in front of her. "Even if I didn't prove myself to you then, I would hope that you at least noticed that I'm not that boy who knocked you up anymore."  
  
She feels herself crumble just so, air filling her lungs as he stares at her bare. She nods, running a hand through her hair tiredly, only to push her glasses further back and tangle them in her hair. She groans and pulls them free with only a few hairs being ripped from her head. He's right, she knows that. Out of everyone who was ever supposed to care about her, out of everyone who _claimed_ to, he was the only one she believed, even if he'd let her down a few times before. All she ever seems to do is stop him from being everything she wants. "Why do you still give me the time of day?"  
  
His eyebrows furrow. "How do you expect me _not_ to?"  
  
She takes a small, cautious step forward, wanting to smile when he bridges the gap and envelopes her, but instead she feels her eyes swell with tears. "I'm sorry," she mutters into his shirt, breathing in a mixture of soap, chlorine, and sweat that allows her to relax against him. "You should have given up on me a long time ago."  
  
"You're Quinn Fabray," he answers simply. He says it like it will fix things and while he may know who that is, has ideas both right and wrong strewn together to create up the image of her in his head, but she's still not sure what that means. She's the one he fell for, not Lucy or whoever she is now, and she pulls back, going to the safety of her cart.  
  
"Lauren's great too. She seems…" She doesn't want to say good for him because that means admitting that Lauren actually did what she couldn't. She sighs and lets her glasses fall open, slipping them on to her face as she skims the book in front of her. "Lauren's great."  
  
"Lauren didn't have my baby." She grips the tattered copy of Dorian Gray and turns the corner to the fiction aisle. "You can't do that for ever, Quinn."  
  
She's sitting Indian style on the floor, books circling her as she tries to wedge the book on to the shelf. "Is it always going to come down to that?" She shoves the book into place, tearing the cover a little bit more. To Noah Puckerman, mother would be a title permanently attributed to her, whether she went on to have more kids or now. "I'm _Quinn Fabray_ ," she spits out like she's just as sure of herself as he is.  
  
"Maybe I could if you just _talked_ to me about it. I can't just get passed the fact that we had a _child_ together." She sees his old construction boots appear next to her, the final book back in its new place.  
  
"If I tell you about seeing her will you leave me alone?" There's no verbal response but she assumes there was a nod she didn't see. "It was when she was three days old. I hadn't slept since I left the hospital and the house was so different…" Her hands fall into her lap and she shrugs, head shaking slightly. "She was crying, when I got there. She was wailing against Shelby's shoulder and she looked almost as bad as I did. I held her, managed to get her to eat which she hadn't done, and then sobbed." She doesn't know what more he wants or what exactly he's looking for and she takes a breath that inflates her entire body. "I spent the entire day there, with them. I watched Shelby do everything we should have and then, when Shelby managed to get some sleep, I took over. There wasn't much to do considering she was three days old but she _fit_ , Noah." Her muscles ache for the weight to return, her arms doing her best to mime the way she held their daughter. "For the first time in three days I felt like I could breathe again." Her arms fall to her sides uselessly, tears blinding her. She's not sure what hurts more, the memory or everything else.  
  
He slumps down next to her, his back to the shelves so he can look at her as he takes her hand into his. The guilt is overwhelming and she finds herself apologizing again until he kisses her like they both _need_ it.  
  
She may not know who she is but she knows for a fact that she's selfish. If she weren't, she'd remind him once more of his girlfriend instead of pulling him closer and nipping at his bottom lip.  
  
\--  
  
Brittany's already at the park when she gets there. She's probably been here all day if Santana had to guess, because there's a small group of kids marching behind her, all smile and giggles. Her eyes flick to a group of mothers who cautiously watch the stranger entertaining their children, only looking away when she hears a bubbly voice call out her name, echoed immediately afterwards in high pitched voices. The mothers' attention is on her now and she digs her toe into the woodchips as Brittany leads the brigade in a circle around her. "Duckies my friend is here now so we have to take a break, okay?" The kids pout but then one of them quickly starts a game of tag and they disperse, leaving the two older girls to themselves. "I wasn't sure you'd come."  
  
"Why wouldn't I have," Santana asks, shoving her hands into her pockets when Brittany goes to grab one. The blonde's face falls, the smile she was wearing around her new friends completely gone and she wants so badly to not do this. She doesn't want to hurt Brittany and everything in her needs to touch her again, but Quinn's words keep replaying the back of her head and she looks back down at the woodchips beneath her feet.  
  
"Because you're mad at me," she whispers, voice almost silent on the noisy playground.  
  
Santana shakes her head. "I'm not mad, Brittany." She hesitantly grabs Brittany's arm, frowning when she looks at her like a liar. "I promise you I'm not mad. I'm just…" Santana looks around and this is not the place they should be having this conversation. Fingers trail down pale skin until Santana can loop her arm through Brittany's, pulling her close without this looking like what it really is. "You're not mine anymore."  
  
"I've always been yours, S." They walk towards an empty table near the edge of a soccer game, Brittany's fingers tracing patterns on her forearm. They're bodies are as close as they can get, their hips bumping together every once in a while and Brittany's all smiles again when it happens. Her fingers twitch to lace with hers and she imagines what their life could be like if it weren't for her. They could be alone in some city, far away from here, and she could grip Brittany's hand like the lifeline that it is without worry. She could rise on to her tiptoes and kiss Brittany in front of hundreds of eyes that don't give one flying fuck that they're both girls. A little kid, probably no older than four, runs past them with no shirt on, immediately followed by his mother who's yelling for him to stop running. Brittany bounces on her feet at the sight, her smile even wider and Santana thinks for the first time that they could even have that too. She's not sure how she would fair as a mother, especially since she can barely manage her own shit right now, but in the future, if Brittany's by her side she thinks it could work. It's hard to picture because she's fucking seventeen years old but if she tries hard enough, there's a vague outline of a tiny blonde with them and for now, that's all she thinks she can handle. The notion of babies with Brittany, of finally making it to the finish line, is enough to make her not completely lose it right now.  
  
They slump down at the table, still side by side, and she knows this doesn't look friendly. This looks like more than that and her palms start to sweat as she looks around them. Nobody cares what they're doing, all too wrapped up in their own worlds to give a shit about what two teenage girls are doing. Still she untangles her arm from Brittany's, tucking her hair behind her ears just to have an excuse to pull away. "But you're not just mine," she says evenly, staring at the soccer game and pretending not to notice the space Brittany puts between them.  
  
"You won't let me," Brittany accuses, bringing a leg up to rest her head on. "That's what I want, Santana. That's all I've _ever_ wanted."  
  
"Really? That's still what you wanted when you were with _Wheels_?" Brittany scoots back even more and god, why does she do this? Is it any wonder that once Artie and Brittany broke up, Santana _still_ didn't get the girl?  
  
"Don't say things like that. I wouldn't let him say things like that about you and I'm not going to let you do the same. He was good to me, Santana."  
  
"He inadvertently gave you _lice_ , he called you stupid, he accused you of cheating, and all around made you feel like shit. He wasn't _good_ to you." She crosses her arms under her chest, watching as Brittany takes her attention off the loose thread on her top and on to her.  
  
"I _was_ cheating on him. With _you_. And the lice thing really wasn't okay. That was actually really horrible and my hair was greasy for weeks afterwards." She twists at her hair, noise wrinkling a bit at the memory before looking back at Santana. "He wasn't great," she says simply, shrugging slightly. "He didn't understand why I needed you. I needed you even when I was with him because you're going to be with me forever, aren't you?"  
  
She exhales through her nose and nods, letting Brittany take her hand into her own. "That's kind of the plan," she admits and Brittany squeezes her hand.  
  
"I'm sorry that I'm making you sad. I'm just so lonely now that you're not here anymore."  
  
"I _am_ here, Brittany. I didn't go anywhere." Brittany drops her hand gently but she might as well have pushed her away.  
  
"No you're not. You spend all of your time with Quinn now. I never wanted to stop being your friend but once I said that we couldn't have sex, you left me."  
  
"I don't know how to be around you and not touch you. I can't _just_ be your friend, Brittany. We haven't been just friends in a long time. I _love_ you. I can't talk to you in your room about random shit and pretend that it doesn't make me fucking terrified that someone else touched you the night before." Brittany stands up and Santana doesn't look at her. She closes her eyes, angrily wiping away the few tears that slip down her cheeks, and tries to hold on to the plan. Them together till the end. They'll make it past all of this bullshit and finally be happy.  
  
Brittany's arms wrap around her shoulders and she jumps at the unexpected contact. "We did it for three years, Santana."  
  
"That was different." That was before declarations and the realization that Brittany wasn't just some girl she was friends with.  
  
"I have loved you since the first day we met and I've told you that. The only difference is that you haven't told me till now." Brittany presses a kiss into her hair. "I want you with me… It's up to you how we're together."  
  
She lets out a ragged breath as Brittany walks away, her whole body colder than it was a few seconds ago. She debates what to do next, because she can't go home with her mom there or stay here because this is _public_ for Christ's sake. She's pulls out her phone to text Quinn and tries not to wonder when they got this close.


	5. Chapter 5

This blows.  
  
    It’s a Saturday and she’s up at 7:30 in the god damn morning thanks to the nutcase she’s been spending her summer with. Plus it’s her _birthday_ and fuck, she should be allowed to sleep in. But Quinn woke her up a half an hour ago with promises of French toast and other awesome stuff, so here she is, leaning against the shower wall still half asleep. She’s not even sure how she’s still standing up. She and Quinn were up till three watching some Carol Burnett infomercial that was surprisingly entertaining and Santana already had a whole day of wallowing under her belt.  
  
    She kind of thinks Quinn is only making a big deal out of today because of what happened with Brittany. She hasn’t outwardly moped since that day at the park, at least not with Quinn there, but Quinn’s not stupid. Plus, Santana thinks Judy ratted her out during one of the two conversations she and Quinn have a week. Santana had been watching Marley & Me in the living room and sobbing her eyes out when Judy had come home for lunch three days ago. They stared at each other awkwardly while Jennifer Aniston’s character miscarried on the screen before Judy offered to make her lunch and give her a face mask.  
  
    There’s three rapid knocks on the door and she jerks, slipping a little in the shower as Quinn walks in. “Jesus _Christ_ , Q.” She’s still sleepy but now more alert since she nearly died two seconds ago. “I’m trying to shower,” she bitches, debating for a moment if she should cover herself before noticing that Quinn barely even glances her direction.  
  
    “Please. You were falling asleep.” Quinn wipes a circle on the mirror and then reaches into Santana’s make up bag for the mascara she tossed in there the other day. “We have big plans and if I leave it up to you, we’ll never get any of it done.”  
  
    “Or we could just do nothing,” Santana comments, trying to wet her hair as thoroughly as possible. “It is _my_ birthday, after all.”  
  
    “I’m not going to let you spend your birthday doing nothing. Since you can’t throw your usual birthday party thanks to your mom, I figure we can do something other than watch bad tv and get drunk at Puck’s.” She runs her pinkie along the corner of her eye as Santana yawns.  
  
    “I’m completely fine with getting drunk at Puck’s. Plus, I’m sure you could find other ways to entertain yourself while we’re there,” she says, running a hand through her hair once more before turning off the shower. Quinn glares at her as she grabs her towel off the rack, crossing her arms under her chest as her hip presses into her counter.  
  
    “I’m not going to ditch you for Puck on your birthday, even if you and Brittany had sex on my birthday two years ago.” Santana rolls her eyes and wraps the towel around her before sliding the glass door shut. “We’re going to have a great day, Santana. I promise.”  
  
    “A great day includes more than four hours of sleep.” She brings her other towel up to dry the tips of her hair. “Also, not gonna care if you sneak off later and mount Puck. I will, however, make you feel as uncomfortable as possible if you come back looking like you just got fucked.”  
  
    Quinn hip checks her before she walks back into her bedroom. “I’m going to return your present.”  
  
    She quirks an eyebrow. “Present? I’ve been practically living here, how have you managed to hide a present from me?” She watches as Quinn reaches under the bed on Santana’s side, pulling out a cardboard box labeled ‘church’ in Quinn’s perfect handwriting.  
  
    Quinn smirks, tucking the box under her arm. “I’m going to go wrap this. Please get dressed so we can leave soon.”  
  
\--  
  
    The first stop of the day is Mitch’s and it means a hell of a lot that Quinn knew this was somewhere she wanted to be on her birthday.  
  
    She found the record store by accident in the 8th grade. She’d gone into the city to pick up Brittany’s Christmas present (a bracelet that the blonde had stared at for twenty straight minutes two weeks before) and decided to cut down the alley between a run down laundry mat and a Chinese take out place so she wouldn’t miss her bus back home. She honestly wouldn’t have even noticed it if her bus hadn’t drove by when she was half way down the alley. She ducked inside to keep warm until the next bus came, even though she was half convinced the owner had to be some sort of child molester or drug lord since the store was technically the basement of the laundry mat. Bars covered the window and half of the OPEN sign was burnt out but once Santana walked inside, she was in love. The walls were covered in 45s, bright yellow poking out of the spaces the vinyl didn’t cover and the front room was filled with narrow aisles of records. There was a room off to the side full of classic memorabilia (everything from jukeboxes and pinball machines to carousel horses and vending machines), along with a sitting area in the corner, and there was a small hallway next to the counter, leading to what looked like another room full of records. Mitch, the owner, told her there was a space heater in the Antique room if she was just waiting for the bus (as it turns out, the bus always ran early during this time of year and stragglers were common) and then told her she could pick the next album he put on.  
  
    She ended up staying for two hours because every time she would pull a record out, Mitch would tell her some crazy story about the band. She went back every day during break (except for Christmas) and then once a week when school started back up. Hanging out with Mitch, who was decidedly not a child molester or a drug lord (though he apparently did anything and everything back in the day), was ten times better than staying at home, alone.  
  
    Mitch is falling asleep at the counter when they walk in and he waves at them lazily as he reaches for his coffee. “Think you can man the fort while I get a few more hours in,” he asks, already tossing her the keys to the doors. “Record player is yours, just no fucking Traffic. I still can’t believe you listen to that shit.”  
  
    “Traffic isn’t shitty. You’re just bitter Steve Winwood took your bitch.” He glares at her over the rim of his coffee and tells her to shove it as he disappears down the hallway.  
  
    They settle in the Antique room once Santana puts on a new record and Quinn curls up on one of the couches with a book while Santana stretches out on the other, her eyes closing when the third track starts to play.  
  
    This song was playing the first time she brought Brittany here and it was the first time she ever kissed Brittany. Mitch has a huge hard on for Bruce Springsteen and spent the first hour they were there explaining about how Born to Run was his best album and should have gotten the attention that Born in the USA did before they sprawled out on the couch she’s on now. Mitch kept the album on the turntable all day and right as Night started filtering through the speakers for the forth time that day, he went into the back room to find an album for someone who called in.  
  
    Brittany was painting her toenails, swaying along to the song and mouthing along to the lyrics perfectly. She has this weird knack for picking up the lyrics to songs after one listen but can’t remember lyrics for shit if she’s looking at them. It wasn’t until the second verse that Brittany actually started singing, wiggling her toes so they could dry before pulling Santana’s feet into her lap and painting her toes. Brittany looked up at her after she finished her big toe, with the corners of her lips upturned and sang, “And you’re in love with all the wonder it brings,” so sweetly that she didn’t even get through half the next line before Santana’s lips covered hers. There wasn’t anything special about that moment but Santana felt happy, content, and warm and kissing Brittany just felt like the right thing to do. Brittany dropped the nail polish brush on the couch in order to palm Santana’s cheek and all Santana could think about how much better it felt than kissing Matt Rutherford.  
  
    She decided in that very moment that she wanted to kiss Brittany everyday for the rest of her life.  
  
    Her finger finds the dried patch of dark red polish on the couch beneath her and she circles it a few times before the record goes to the next track. This is the first birthday in a long time that she didn’t wake up next to Brittany and she knows that it’s partly, if not fully, her fault that she woke up next to Quinn instead. She sighs heavily and when she opens her eyes to try and find a cigarette, Quinn is shaking her head. “You will love anything that comes out of New Jersey won’t you?”  
  
    Santana wrinkles her nose, sitting up so she can see Quinn clearly. “Bruce Springsteen is amazing Quinn. _America_ thinks so and has thought so since the 70s. If Mitch hears you, he’ll cut your throat.” Quinn rolls her eyes but dog-ears her page anyway and then pulls her purse into her lap.  
  
    “Will you stop sulking if I give you your present now?”  
  
    “I wasn’t sulking.” Quinn’s eyebrow raises but she pulls the present out of her purse anyway and leans forward to hand it off. “This is it?”  
  
    “You’re kidding right?”  
  
    “The box you had this morning was huge.”  
  
    “Open your present before I take it back.” Santana rips away the wrapping paper to reveal a simple brown journal, a moleskin if she had to guess, with the words ‘People I want to punch in the face’ printed in bold face on the front. She laughs but her eyebrows still knit together in confusion. The only person who knows that she has a journal is Brittany and given the fact that Quinn isn’t Brittany’s biggest fan right now… She looks up and Quinn bites her bottom lip. “I may have accidentally looked in your purse a while back and saw your notebook. I swear I didn’t really read it… A few lyrics at most but then once I realized…” She looks back down at the notebook, fanning the pages as she tries to loosen the spine. “I noticed it was almost full so… Yeah.”  
  
    “You really should stop reading my shit,” she says quietly. She opens up to the first page and there’s a yellow post it.  
  
     _Since I looked at your journal, you can look at my box._  
  
    “What makes you think I haven’t already? I like, never leave your house unless I’m with you.”  
  
     “Trust me, I’d know if you looked inside it.”  
  
    Santana rolls her eyes, tucking her present in her bag before looking back at Quinn as seriously as she can. “Thank you.”  
  
    Quinn grins. “Who knew you’d turn into a sap on your birthday?” She would throw the pillow behind her at Santana’s head but Mitch would kill her if she accidentally hit the neon sign behind Quinn’s head.  
  
\--  
  
    Quinn’s hand snakes into her bag, tearing off a chunk of blue cotton candy as they walk down the fairway and popping it in her mouth. One of the rides the pass is playing Journey and Quinn’s eyes widen. “Mitch completely ruined them for me.” Santana laughs as she pushes her sunglasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “I’m serious. All I can think about is Steve Perry trying to pick up those 14 year old girls after that concert and I feel sick to my stomach.”  
  
    “Sort of gives Lovin’, Touchin’, Squeezing’ a whole different meaning, huh?”  
  
    Quinn’s entire face falls and Santana laughs harder before twisting the bag of cotton candy shut and handing it to the blonde next to her.  
  
    After hanging out at Mitch’s for a few hours (and apparently tarnishing any band Quinn may have remotely liked before today), they drove down to Columbus for their annual fair. She hasn’t been since she started Cheerios because every time she comes to the fair she wants to eat _everything_ and that shit didn’t work for her when she was tiptoeing the line of having an eating disorder. But Quinn apparently comes every year, even last summer which was weird since Santana was pretty sure Quinn never left her house after having the baby, and Santana’s birthday was the perfect excuse to go.  
  
    They’ve literally done nothing but walk around since they got here an hour ago because they both refuse to buy ride wristbands and they somehow wander to the farm part of the fair. It smells like shit and Santana’s pretty sure one of the goats they stop to look at is a demon because it looks like it would kill her if given the opportunity. “Hey.” Santana dares to break the staring contest she didn’t realize she entered with the goat, and follows Quinn’s finger to a station where kids can milk an absolutely miserable looking cow. “You should totally milk the cow!”  
  
    “There’s a better chance of you kissing my ass than me milking that cow.”  
  
    “Come on, Santana. You’re probably ten times better at it given your affinity for boobs.” There’s a mom next to them with two kids and her head immediately shoots up when Quinn says that. She moves her kids over to the pig cages and Quinn looks like she’s about to apologize but Santana shakes her head, crossing her arms underneath her chest.  
  
    “You have more experience with lactation, Teen Mom.” Quinn pushes her towards the goat pen and Santana screams when the goat stands, putting its hooves on the railing and bleating right in her face. She backs into Quinn, almost knocking over the blonde who is literally doubled over in laughter. “That wasn’t fucking funny, Q!”  
  
    “I’ve never heard you scream do loud! And that includes the time at Mike’s party.” Quinn still can’t catch her breath and Santana has half a mind to just push her over so that she falls on her ass but then Quinn manages to straighten herself out. She takes four deep breaths, trying in vain to relax her face. “It’s your birthday, I’m sorry.”  
  
    “You owe me.” Quinn nods and bites her bottom lip when she feels herself wanting to laugh again. Santana looks around them and smirks when she notices the mechanical bull set up next to the show ring for horses. “That is what I’m making you do,” she says, lifting her chin in the direction of the ride and suddenly Quinn isn’t smiling.  
  
    “You want me to ride a mechanical bull? I thought you were just going to make me milk the cow.”  
  
    Santana shakes her head and loops her arm through Quinn’s. “Not punishment enough.” Quinn digs her heels into the dirt when Santana tries to drag her forward and throws her weight down. “Oh, come on you big baby. A goat almost murdered me because of you. This is the fucking least you could do.”  
  
    “I could break my neck!”  
  
    “You pushed a baby out of you, Q. _And_ you were a Cheerio. This should be a piece of cake.”  
  
    “There’s no risk of breaking your neck when you give birth.” They’ve barely made it a few feet thanks to Quinn’s freakish lower body strength and Santana notices people starting to stare.  
  
    “Will you stop acting like what I can only imagine is Rachel fucking Berry at age 5 if I ride it too?” Quinn looks at her wearily but stands up straight, no longer putting up a fight.  
  
    “Before or after me?”  
  
    “I would say after so that you look like a complete jackass compared to me, but that gives you a chance to back out.”  
  
    “How do I know _you_ won’t back out?”  
  
    Santana sighs. “It is my birthday and I just almost pissed myself because of a god damn goat. Ride the damn bull, Quinn.”  
  
    Quinn looks between the ride and Santana, her face wrinkled. “Can we ride it together? Is that allowed?”  
  
    “Oh my god, are you kidding me? It’s just a ride!”  
  
    “Either you ride it with me or I don’t ride it at all and drive home alone.”  
  
    “It’s my _birthday_.”  
  
    “I will only accept that excuse so many times today, Santana.”  
  
    She groans. She should let it go but who knows? Maybe this will be ten times funnier for her if she’s right there when Quinn makes a complete ass of herself.  
  
    They get to the ride and Santana arches an eyebrow when Quinn tries to get her to pay for them. “I should have pushed you into the cage,” she grumbles.  
  
    “Get on the bull, _Quinnie_. You should be in front since you’ve never done this before.”  
  
    “ _You’ve_ done this before,” Quinn asks, clutching on to the strap.  
  
    “Sort of. My grandma has a ranch so I’ve ridden before, just not a bull controlled by an asshole.” Quinn hoists herself up, slinging a leg over so she can sit. “Scoot up.”  
  
    “Your grandma owns a ranch?” Santana reaches between her legs and grabs the strap herself. “I didn’t know that.”  
  
    “I didn’t know your name was Lucy until this year.” She hoists herself up with ease, moving so she’s flush with Quinn. She’s been in Quinn’s personal space before (Cheerios don’t have boundaries) but it’s been a while and she almost feels like apologizing for practically molesting Quinn’s back. But then Quinn is grabbing her free arm and wrapping it around her waist.  
  
    “I’m not so sure about this anymore, San.”  
  
    “We’re surrounded by fuckin’ bounce house material.” She looks over Quinn’s shoulder and readjusts the blonde’s hand so that they both have a better grip on the strap. Santana nudges Quinn’s feet forward so that Santana has a decent chance of staying on once they start moving. “You’re not going to break your neck.”  
  
    “Just please don’t let go.” Quinn glances back at her and Santana notices that she looks even more pale than usual. She really doesn’t understand how Quinn can be freaking out over this when she’s been subjected to crazier shit while on the Cheerios, but she tightens her grip on Quinn’s waist anyway.  
  
    The guy running the machine asks if they’re ready and Quinn slowly raises her arm above her head. It starts out slow, barely bucking at all and Quinn relaxes a little against her. “This isn’t so bad,” Quinn whispers and Santana glances over at the man who is now wearing the biggest smirk she’s ever seen.  
  
    “Hold on tighter,” she instructs and Quinn looks back at her, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, only for her head to be whipped forward, a yelp escaping her lips. The bull tilts as far forward as it can go, leaving Quinn lying flat on the bull while Santana tries in vain to push herself into a sitting position. She’s still flush with Quinn except now it just feels (and she’s sure _looks_ ) like she’s mounting her and Santana’s pretty sure her hand is pressing hard into Quinn’s crotch.  
  
    “You okay,” she asks as the bull starts spinning in a circle, only to stop abruptly and spin the other way. She tries to sit up again so Quinn can have some breathing room, but it’s pretty hard without the use of either of her hands. She tries to turn her hand next, so it doesn’t feel like Quinn is being punched in the pelvic bone, just as the bull goes back up and Quinn makes this noise in the back of her throat that Santana’s never heard her make before. She doesn’t dwell on it for very long, realizing that Quinn has completely let go of the bull in favor of clawing the shit out of her arm. “Hold on to the _fucking_ bull, Quinn!” The blonde stubbornly shakes her head and Santana lets out an aggravated sigh as the bull starts bucking again. She can feel them start to slip to the side and she really can’t keep the both of them on if Quinn isn’t going to help. Quinn starts sinking to the left and Santana does the only thing she can think of to ensure they’ll both stay on the bull. She thrusts her hips forward so Quinn is once again flush with their hands and they’re both back in a position where Santana can keep Quinn up.  
  
    Quinn makes that noise again and Santana’s eyes go a little wide because she didn’t anticipate that happening when she suggested riding the bull.  
  
    She is going to tease the shit out of Quinn for this later.  
  
    “Q, for the love of God, hold on to the bull or I will let us fall off,” Santana yells just as the bull tilts down again. It’s sudden enough that Quinn instinctually puts her hands out to stop herself from face planting but Santana’s already loosened her grip and they fall off the bull with a muted thump. She can vaguely make out laughing and cat calling over the horrible country music they’re playing but all she can really hear is just how hard Quinn is breathing  next to her. “Are you okay?”  
  
    She props herself up on an elbow, glancing over at the asshole who controls the bull who _now_ looks concerned, before looking down at Quinn and rolling her on to her back. Quinn peeks one eye open after two more deep breaths. “We are so fucking even.” Santana lets out a small laugh before nodding, helping Quinn sit up slowly.  
  
    “If you can manage not to work yourself into a full blown panic attack, I won’t even tease you about practically humping my hand.” Quinn’s eyes widen comically and Santana laughs harder, dropping back down on the ground when Quinn shoves her.  
  
    “Oh my _god_. I did _not_!”  
  
    “I’m 99% certain you were making noises only Puckerman’s heard before, _if_ you were lucky.” Quinn rolls her eyes and then uses Santana’s legs to push herself up, making sure to dig the heel of her hand into Santana’s leg as hard as possible. “Ow, you bitch.” Quinn smoothes down her shirt and pulls her shorts up before offering Santana a hand.  
  
\--  
  
    “Your mom’s nicer than I remember.” Santana flops down on her side of the bed and Quinn nudges Santana’s duffle full of more clothes out of the walkway as she shuts the door behind her.  
  
    After walking around the fair for a few more hours, Santana had driven them back to Lima where they gamely sat through a dinner with Mrs. Lopez. It had been incredibly awkward at first, especially since Quinn had never really said more than two words to the woman before, and Mrs. Lopez seemed to be waiting for Brittany to show up, but after a while, somewhere around the time Mrs. Lopez brought our 3 cupcakes, they fell into a comfortable conversation about their day. Considering Quinn only saw Santana looking like she’d rather stab herself with her fork than sit through this dinner once (and that was when Mrs. Lopez asked if Brittany was going to be over later), the dinner was a nice ending to their day.  
  
    “You’re just saying that because she didn’t bring up your family.” Santana unbuttons her cut offs, lifting her hips to shuck them off and then kicking them towards Quinn, who throws them in the laundry basket. “God, it’s hotter than fuck in here. I know you don’t like talking to your mother, but maybe you should put in a word about the AC.”  
  
    Quinn pulls off her shirt and shakes her head. “If you’re going to complain, you can go home.” She pulls on her sleep shirt and then slips out of her own shorts.  
  
    “There’s still like, four hours of my birthday left.”  
  
    Quinn drops on to her side of the bed, taking the remote from Santana before she can turn on Jerseylicious. “I don’t care so much anymore.” She settles on a movie she’s only watched once before, at Puck’s house when she was pregnant. Santana’s checking her phone compulsively next to her and if she were a better friend, she’d call Santana on it. Maybe give her a speech about how Brittany’s stupid (except she knows that’ll earn her a punch in the face and Quinn quite likes her new nose) and that there are other fish in the sea or whatever. Santana will only bitch at her though, tell her she doesn’t care about the fact that she hasn’t heard from Britt on her birthday and that Quinn has some nerve to mention other fish when she’s clearly hung up on Puck.  
  
    Laughter bubbles out of her throat before she can stop it and Santana looks over at her curiously. “What the fuck, Quinn? He just got shot.”  
  
    “I’m not laughing at the movie.” Santana’s eyebrows scrunch and Quinn laughs a little bit more before shaking her head. “I just had an entire conversation between the two of us in my head.”  
  
    “And that’s funny because…?”  
  
    “We’re both so god damn predictable, among other things.” Santana is still staring at her like she’s crazy and she shakes her head once more. “Sorry.”  
  
    “Oh god, this isn’t you having some sort of break down is it? Because I know you’re not giving a shit about the birthday card anymore but making me deal with your crazy ass on my birthday is kind of my final straw.”  
  
    “I’m not having a break down. I’m saving that for when my father moves back in.”  
  
    “None of that shit either. God, I’m not even drunk.” Santana swipes the remote and flips it to a happy medium, Food Network, before running a hand through her hair lazily. “Thanks for today.”  
  
    “Good birthday?”  
  
    Santana nods once. “Awesome birthday… Though I didn’t think I’d be getting marked in the least fun way possible.”  
  
    Quinn rolls her eyes and then yawns. “Happy birthday, S.”  
  
\--  
  
    Given that Quinn practically humped her hand yesterday, it’s saying _a lot_ that this is the most awkward situation she’s been in.  
  
    Judy is usually at work by the time Santana wakes up and so Santana doesn’t bother with pants when she goes downstairs to eat. Today, when she rounds the corner into the kitchen, she stops dead in her tracks because Judy and fucking _Russell_ are sitting at the island talking. Russell’s eyes widen and Santana pulls down on the hem of her shirt. “Um…” She raises her hand to run it through her hair before realizing it pulls her shirt up and she sighs. “I’m… Not going to do any of this,” she mumbles, motioning to the both of them before turning around.  
  
    “Santana.” She pauses at the foot of the stairs and she can see Judy hesitantly put her hand on top of Santana’s. “I would really appreciate if you didn’t tell Quinn that Russell was in the house. I don’t want to upset her.”  
  
    She should nod because Judy has more or less been okay with Santana living in her house this summer, but Quinn was like, her friend now, and what Judy is doing is shitty. “Yeah, I’m not promising you that.” Judy opens her mouth to retort but Santana shakes her head. “I’m actually really thankful you’ve been letting me stay here and I’m not going to go out of my way to tell Quinn but if it comes up, I’m telling her. It’s not like she doesn’t know you guys aren’t…” She pauses, not sure what would be the appropriate word to use in front of and regarding Judy Fabray. “She gives it six months,” she sighs with a shrug. “If you’re not going to prepare her for that, then it’s up to me.”  
  
    The doorbell rings and Santana slips her hand out from Judy’s, taking the steps two at a time. “Hi.” It’s bright but cautious and Santana trips over herself for the first time in years. “Is Santana here?”  
  
    She turns on her heel just in time to see Judy stepping aside to let Brittany in. “There she is,” the older blonde answers coolly, motioning to Santana on the stairs with a smile that borders on smirk. Santana has hated Judy more than she has in this very moment, but now this hate is entirely personal, even if Judy’s one up is completely coincidental, and she wants nothing more than to punch Quinn’s mom in the face. “If you girls need anything let me know.”  
  
    Brittany smiles and Judy disappears into the kitchen. Santana notices the poorly hidden present behind Brittany’s back and she wets her lips before rolling back her shoulder. “My birthday was yesterday,” she says evenly and Brittany nods, her smile retreating a little.  
  
    “I know…”  
  
    Santana arches an eyebrow and there’s a crash coming from a kitchen followed unexpectedly by laughing. She nods Brittany up the stairs and once the blonde gets to her height, Brittany tries to reach for her hand. “If you knew my birthday was yesterday, why are you here today?”  
  
    Brittany’s hand falls back at her side and she swallows hard. “I thought you said you weren’t mad at me.”  
  
    “I wasn’t.” Santana drops down on to Quinn’s bed and Brittany looks at the room curiously. She sets Santana’s present down on Quinn’s bookcase and then walks along the edge of the room, long fingers studying various objects that belong to Quinn or Santana. Brittany kicks a pair of Santana’s shorts off of her purse and then kneels down and starts digging through the mess. Santana doesn’t have the energy to bitch at her for it, though if this had been before, she wouldn’t have even felt the urge to. Brittany produces a green apple Jolly Rancher and pops it in her mouth before slumping down next to Santana on her back.  
  
    “What do you want from me?” Her words are light, just like the hand that starts toying with the hem of the shirt that’s bunched up at the base of her back.  
  
    “What did you get me?” A figure eight is drawn on her skin and her eyes close without meaning to.  
  
    “Open it.” Her eyes blink open and she stares at the present, a large, flat square, and realizes that she’s not curious enough to leave Brittany’s side.  Blunt nails scratch at her skin now and she reclines, laying flat and feeling Brittany’s hand dig into her. “What did you do yesterday?”  
  
    “Quinn kept me busy,” she answers simply and Brittany nods. “I thought you would’ve called. Sent a god damn text at the very least.”  
  
    “I was going to…” Santana waits for her to elaborate but Brittany never does. Instead she rolls closer, pushing herself into Santana’s side and tucking her head underneath Santana’s chin. Brittany’s thighs stick to her own and it’s hard to decipher where Santana ends and Brittany begins even with their contrasting skin. Brittany’s free hand wraps around her wrist, only their pinkies tangling together, and Santana feels anchored down in a way that’s frightening but familiar. “Don’t be mad at me,” Brittany murmurs against her skin and the answer slips from Santana breathlessly. “Promise?”  
  
    “I promise I’m not mad.” Brittany’s thumb runs over the inside of her wrist and then her leg inches up the inside of Santana’s until her thigh is pressed directly between Santana’s legs. She knows a set up when she sees it and Santana bites her lip until Brittany speaks again.  
  
    “I can’t see you anymore.” Brittany’s voice barely makes it above a whisper and her words are muffled by Santana’s skin but Santana hears her loud and clear. Her entire body tenses and Brittany presses a little harder between her legs in an effort to… Relax her? Restrain her?  
  
    “Because,” she asks, trying to ignore the hammering against her chest. Fuck, is this what Quinn’s panic attacks feel like? Brittany shifts against her again, raising her head to look her in the eye and, thankfully, Santana thinks, she looks sad.  
  
    “Don’t be mad,” Brittany repeats and with an even breath, Santana laces their fingers together. “I’m dating Artie again.”  
  
    “Get off me,” she replies but Brittany doesn’t move, just tightens her grip on Santana’s hand when she tries to pull away. “Brittany, get the _fuck_ off of me.”  
  
    “Don’t be mad, S. Please don’t be mad.”  
  
    Santana wraps her leg around Brittany’s and then rolls them over. “That’s not fucking fair and you know that.” With each push away, Brittany pulls her back and she can feel tears threatening to spill but she refuses to cry right now. “Did he tell you to stay away from me or was this your idea?” She asks out of some sort of fucked up courtesy because she already knows the answer.  
  
    “I think we deserve a fair chance this time.”  
  
    Santana chokes out a laugh. “What about us? Don’t _we_ deserve a fair chance?”  
  
    “Are we going to get a fair chance here, Santana?”  
  
    Santana stares at her and then pulls away from the blonde’s loosened grip. “That’s not fucking fair.” She goes to get off Brittany completely but the girl beneath her wraps her arms around her waist. The grip doesn’t strangle her but she’s torn between laying on Brittany and kicking her out.  
  
    “We haven’t seen each other in weeks.”  
  
    “I saw you last Saturday.”  
  
    A small smile makes it on to Brittany’s face. “I haven’t seen you with my top on in weeks.”  
  
    The hand returns to the base of her back, tracing invisible lines so lightly that Santana’s not entirely sure Brittany’s touching her at all and she wants nothing more than to push Brittany’s hands away from her. “That’s not my fault, Britt.”  
  
    Brittany’s eyebrows rise in a way that looks playful. “Really?”  
  
    Santana licks her lips, letting her heal loll back. The curtains are parted just enough to let in the barely there breeze and if she concentrates hard enough, she can hear Russell and Judy saying goodbye at the front door. “Why are you letting him control you like this?”  
  
    A ‘B’ is burned into her skin with the tip of Brittany’s nail. “He wants a girlfriend who will treat him right.”  
  
    “Aren’t you supposed to trust someone in a relationship,” Santana asks, looking down at Brittany with an empty glare at best.  
  
    “Don’t be mad,” the blonde says simply, hands urging Santana to lay on top of her. Santana grabs Brittany’s forearms and pulls them away from her. Brittany’s eyes dart from Santana’s hands and her face nervously.  
  
    “I _love_ you.”  
  
    Brittany’s face softens and the reply is instantaneous. “I love you too.”  
  
    “Then _why_ are you agreeing to this?” Brittany turns her hands in Santana’s grasp, grabbing on to Santana the only way she can. “Ever since we were eight fucking years old it’s been me and you.” She can see Brittany aching to touch her more. She imagines the blonde threading her fingers through her hair, massaging Santana’s scalp the same way she’s always did when Santana’s parents fought. She imagines resting her head against Brittany’s chest, her heart thumping wildly against Santana’s ear. Brittany would press kisses on her forehead and Santana would let this go because, _god_ , it’s _Brittany_. She tightens her grip on Brittany’s arms and closes her eyes. “Why are you letting him control you? You should be able to be friends with who ever you want.”  
  
    “He’s not controlling me, Santana,” Brittany tries but Santana shakes her head, the glare she produces more pronounced.  
  
    “ _Yes_ , he is.”  
  
    She knows that if Brittany really wanted to, she could flip them again, but the blonde is just staring up at her, blue eyes carefully studying Santana. Brittany runs her fingers over Santana’s arms gently and somehow she lets Brittany’s hands trail up until they’re clutching her elbows. “What’s the difference between him telling me not to see you and you telling me to keep us a secret?”  
  
    “Can you see yourself marrying him? Because I can see myself marrying you, Brittany. When I look into the future, you’re the only thing I can see. And I want that with everything I fucking have.” She shakes her head and sighs. Brittany, somehow, frees one of her arms and Santana naturally presses into the hand Brittany places on her cheek. “Why can’t you just wait for me?”  
  
    Brittany’s hand dips forward and she traces Santana’s eyebrows, the slope of her nose, the shape of her lips, before taking her chin in between her fingers and pinching lightly. “Meep,” Brittany whispers and the corner of her lips quirk up but the most Santana can offer is the release of Brittany’s other arm. Brittany presses herself into the bed, licks her lips and closes her eyes. “I’m lonely, Santana.”  
  
    “And you think I’m not?” Santana wraps her arms in the hem of her shirt. “You said it was up to me how we were together right? Well, I want you to be with me. I don’t want you sleeping with anyone else or going on dates with anyone else.”  
  
    “But in private,” Brittany asks and Santana sags on top of her.  
  
    “It’s safer that way, Brittany... Just until we get out of this fucking state. And then I will flaunt you in front of everyone and shout from the rooftops how crazy I am about you.”  
  
    Hands grip her hips again and with a tenderness she’s only ever gotten from Brittany, the blonde turns them until they’re laying face to face on the bed. “Could I tell my parents about you?” The Pierces have always been good to her, and it’s obvious where Brittany gets her personality from; they’re nice to everyone and always willing to set another place at their table. But Mr. Pierce is close with Santana’s grandma and even though she trusts the Pierces, it’s too much of a risk for Santana to take when she only has one more year in this stupid state.  
  
    She shakes her head slowly and Brittany takes a deep breath, her chest just barely grazing Santana’s before she exhales. “Could we tell Glee club?”  
  
    “After what happened with Kurt? I don’t think so.”  
  
    Brittany bites her lip, a finger twirling a strand of Santana’s hair. “But what if it’s just the Glee club? Not the whole school. Kurt was out out. You can just be Glee out.”  
  
    Santana thumbs the heart of the charm bracelet around Brittany’s wrist. “That’s not how this works, B.”  
  
    There’s a vibration on the mattress but Brittany ignores it, her frown settling in such a way that Santana notices the lines that have been whispering on her pale face ever since she showed up on the porch. If Santana really thinks about it, the lines have been creeping further to the surface for a while now, she just hasn’t wanted to see what she has done to her best friend for the past five years.  
  
    She digs Brittany’s phone out of her back pocket, the lit up phone revealing this nauseating picture of Wheels and she feels the urge to throw the cell into the wall. She swallows hard and wets her lips, eyes glancing from Brittany’s phone to the crystal blue eyes she can’t imagine not waking up next to. The phone goes still in her hand before it starts up again, Artie’s stupid face reappearing once more. She closes her eyes when the sting becomes unbearable and after Brittany’s phone hits the floor, still vibrating in a way that rattles her brain and scrambles her thoughts, Brittany’s leg wraps around her hip. “Can’t I be enough,” Santana asks, her hand palming Brittany’s neck and pulling the blonde just a little closer.  
  
    “Look at me, Santana.”  
  
    Santana shakes her head and then bites her lip hard enough that she tastes blood. “I’m sorry.” She wishes she were stronger, but she’s not. As much as it kills her to admit it, Quinn’s right. She needs her mom and dad, just until she can get away from this shitty state, and that means saying no to the one person she just wants to say yes to.  
  
    “Baby, look at me.” Brittany’s phone goes off again and while Santana knows she’s not great for Brittany while she’s nothing but a coward, Artie should not be the second choice. She opens her eyes and Brittany smiles in a way Santana knows is genuine. “Your eyes are so pretty when they look like broken glass.” She can’t stop herself from completely falling apart. Her entire face crumples and the sob she lets out actually burns her throat. “Oh, baby,” Brittany whispers and Santana digs her fingers into the back of Brittany’s neck.  
  
    Brittany’s lips are on hers, kissing softly, tongue barely grazing the cut on her lip. She can’t seem to catch her breath because she’s crying so hard it honestly feels like Brittany is killing her. She can feel the blanket beneath her dampen as Brittany kisses her a little bit harder and this feels too much like a goodbye.  
  
    Santana lets Brittany pull her leg over her hip and when a pale hand pushes her underwear to the side, she cants her hips toward it. She can’t kiss Brittany back because she breathing is becoming a genuine issue and she ducks her head into the blonde’s neck. She has vague memories of what life was like without Brittany and it fucking _sucked_. She was living with her grandma, hadn’t seen her mother in a year, and fought with Puck everyday at school. Even when things with Brittany were shitty, they were so much better because Brittany was there. This girl has been the _only_ constant in her life for the past ten years. And now? Now she’s losing her to Artie fucking Abrams because she’s too much of a pussy to call Brittany her girlfriend in front of their friends.  
  
    Who would’ve thought she had the bigger handicap?  
  
    The position is awkward but Brittany wraps her arm around Santana’s shoulders when she starts crying harder and the fingers between her legs circle her clit a few times before they slip down. “I love you,” Brittany whispers into her ear, two fingers sliding in to her. She repeats herself with each thrust and pretty soon moans meld with Santana’s cries.  
  
    She wants this to last as long as it can because, even though she has Brittany’s body memorized and she’s pretty fucking positive she’ll never forget what this is like with Brittany (because it’s possibly one of the best feelings in the entire world), she knows that Brittany’s gone after this. But, of course, Brittany is amazing at what she does and she cums almost embarrassingly fast. Her fists tangle in Brittany’s shirt and keeps her close. “Brit…”  
  
    Sticky fingers squeeze her thigh. “I love you.”  
  
    She turns her head just so and presses her lips to Brittany’s neck. “I love you too.”  
  
    Santana lets out a heavy breath, one hand releasing Brittany’s shirt and traveling down to the top of her jeans. Brittany stops her hand and shakes her head. “You’re tired.”  
  
    She pulls back to look at Brittany’s face and when she notices the drying trails of tears on pale cheeks, she almost starts crying harder again. “But I wan-”  
  
    Brittany shakes her head again. “This isn’t the end, okay? Everything ends with happily ever after, right? It’s not over till happily ever after.” Santana bites her lip and nods. “Go to sleep, baby.”


	6. Chapter 6

She rocks on her heels as she waits in line, pushing a stray piece of hair back as the older woman in front of her takes her time trying to decide if she wants a Caesar salad or a Chinese chicken salad. She knows that Mr. Apenta won’t be upset if she comes in a little late but she prefers to be prompt. “I think I’ll go with the Caesar salad,” the old woman croons and Quinn sighs before the woman then stumbles on what to drink.  
  
    This is her favorite deli and she’s been craving their BLT for a week now, but she really doesn’t have the time for this. A hand slips into hers, pulling her out of the line and even though she was going to get out of line this is _not_ okay. “Excuse-” Puck glances over his shoulder, giving her hand a small squeeze, and she finds herself walking with him instead of trying to dig her heels into the tile. “What’re you doing here,” she asks as he leads her out of the store. He drops her hand and she pulls her phone out of her pocket just so she has something to do with her now empty hand.  
  
    “I was picking you up this.” He holds up a white paper bag, the smell of bacon wafting towards her. She smiles as she tucks her phone back into the pocket of her dress before taking the bag from him. “Guess it’s a good thing I got in before the crypt keeper, hm?”  
  
    Her smile stretches as her hair falls back into her face but it shrinks when he tucks it behind her ear before she gets the chance to. They walk side by side the four blocks to the bookstore and he catches her up on the fight between his mom and Jenna. Apparently Jenna thinks she’s old enough to not go to day camp anymore and made the point of saying that Puck was able to stay home alone when he was her age. “I have to take her kicking and screaming every morning now,” Puck says, opening the door for her.  
  
    “I know I’m not your mother’s favorite person,” she starts, straightening up a few books as she passes. “But since you’re here nearly everyday anyway, your sister is more than welcome to come too.”  
  
    Mr. Apenta putters out of the office, smiling at both of them. He really only comes by to open and close the shop, trusting Quinn enough to hold down the fort. His wife had a really bad stroke earlier this year and even though they have a live in nurse to take care of her, he prefers to spend as much time with her as possible. “Will you be okay alone, Quinn,” he asks, just like he asks her everyday before he leaves.  
  
    “Of course! Tell Esther I said hello.”  
  
    He smiles at her, adjusting his glasses before he tucks his newspaper underneath his arm. Puck pretends to be looking through the collection of Edgar Allen Poe on one of the display tables and Mr. Apenta looks at him as he stands next to Quinn behind the counter. He busies himself with the cash register and then says under his breath, “He’s been here a lot.” Quinn nods, biting her lip lightly. “You have a very nice smile when he’s here.” He looks up at Quinn’s surprised face, a grin spreading across his wrinkled face. He pats her hand. “Call me if it gets busy.”  
  
    When the door shuts behind him, Puck puts down the book. “What’d he say to you?”  
  
    “Nothing.”  
  
    Puck leans against the counter. “Should I stop coming by so much?”  
  
    She catches herself shaking her head a little too quickly and she picks up a stack of books, handing half to him in an effort to distract him. “You should talk to your mom about bringing Jenna here. I know it’s not very exciting here, but Jenna likes to read.”  
  
    Puck follows her down the aisle, nodding a little. “Kind of cuts into my time with you though.”  
  
    “You do realize I exist outside of this store, right?” She arches a brow and he rolls his eyes, sticking a book in its place on the shelf.  
  
    “People are going to make it more than it is. This town likes to talk.” He’s right and she knows that if Lauren were to catch on to anything, Quinn would be done for (not even Santana could take her down).  It still doesn’t stop her face from falling ever so slightly and Puck slings an arm over her shoulders when he catches it. “I think Jenna would like it here.”  
  
    Quinn nods. “Bring her by tomorrow, if it’s okay with your mom.”  
  
\--  
  
    Quinn opens her bedroom door, hoping that for once, Santana doesn’t want to go out. It’s not like they talk about shit that matters, so she won’t have to explain that she really just _can’t_ see Puck anymore today (they’re almost friends, she thinks, but then they made out for her entire lunch break. Afterwards they went back to just _talking_ , like real, functional people but god, he looks at her like an angel sometimes). Santana’s laying in the middle of her bed, cocooned in a sheet so that the only part of her Quinn can see is her head. It’s weird because Santana is usually sprawled out in little more than her underwear when Quinn gets home, hand shoved in a bag of potato chips with some horrid reality show on the tv. “San?” The tv is off and Santana isn’t moving at all. Quinn kicks off her flipflops, dropping her purse on top of them, and when she walks to the edge of the bed, her eyes widen. Santana’s cheeks are shiny and the tips of her ears and the tip of her nose are red. Her eyes are bloodshot and it’s like she’s looking right through Quinn.  
  
    Quinn kneels on the bed, hand hesitantly raising to push some of the hair stuck to Santana’s cheek and neck back. “She left,” Santana sighs out, her eyes closing slow enough to look like it physically pains her to do it. “She left without waking me up.” Tears start to pool quickly and Santana tries to laugh. “Wow, I actually thought I wasn’t able to cry anymore.”  
  
    “Shut up,” Quinn says softly, too softly for the type of friends they are, and pushes back Santana’s hair.  
  
    “She’s dating him again.” Quinn wants to say sorry but the words get stuck in her throat as Santana pulls the sheet up a little higher to dry her eyes. “I need to drink,” she croaks. “Like, I need to get shitfaced.”  
  
    Quinn nods. “We can do that.”  
  
\--  
  
    She can’t find Santana.  
  
    Before she went to the bathroom, Santana was sitting on the old couch Quinn used to sleep on when she lived with Puck, nursing a bottle of tequila Quinn swiped her from the kitchen. Now, two freshman are making out in her place and she would yell at them because _who the fuck let them in_ if she weren’t so freaked out about Santana.  
  
    She manages to find Puck at the beer pong table and grabs the ping-pong ball before he can toss it. “You see Santana?”  
  
    He only looks irritated for a second before rising up to scan the crowd. “Nah, but I don’t see Britt either.” She nods and if Zizes wasn’t giving her the evil eye from the other end of the table, she’d tell him to meet her at work a little earlier tomorrow. She bumps him out of the way and takes his shot, bouncing the ball off the table and smiling widely when it goes into one of the cups across the table. Beer pong is so much easier sober.  
  
    She walks away before Lauren downs the contents of her red cup, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. She’s 99% sure Santana is with Brittany and her hands fist at her sides. She makes her way through the crowd until she reaches the stairs, her chest constricting uncomfortably. She and Santana stay on the edges of the rooms for a reason because she can’t handle being sandwiched by so many people and she’s really not used to parties this big. If she can get upstairs and calm down in Mrs. Puckerman’s room, she’ll be able to breathe and think clearly.  
  
    A mess of dark brown hair catches her eye and then there Santana is, over in the kitchen, one hand holding a beer bottle, the other resting on Brittany’s hip. “Hey,” she yells pointlessly with what little breath she has left, unable to hear herself over the music. Brittany moves just enough for Quinn to see Santana’s face and Quinn can tell she’s two seconds away from crying. She pushes her way into the kitchen as fast as she can, losing a shoe in the process but not caring because 1) she needs to get to Santana _now_ and 2) she needs to get to a space less crowded _now_. Her hand wraps around Brittany’s bra strap once she’s in reach, pulling the blonde away from Santana roughly. “Get away from her.” Brittany looks so innocent and confused that Quinn _almost_ feels bad about growling at her.  
  
    “Why are you yelling,” Brittany asks, a frown settling on her face as she reaches to take Santana’s hand.  
  
    Quinn swats her hand, stepping in front of Santana to create even more space between the two. “Because you need to stay away from her.”  
  
    Her features twist and Quinn feels Santana’s head rest against her shoulder blades. “I just wanted to…” Brittany says quietly, looking past Quinn in an effort to look at Santana. “You stole her this summer.”  
  
    “You pushed her away,” Quinn spits, physically shoving Brittany back when she tries to reach for Santana again. “Talk to her when you’re sober. If you actually remember this tomorrow.” She turns around and grabs Santana by the waist, pulling the bottle dangling from her fingers away and slamming it on the counter.  
  
    She leads them out the back door and off the patio, only stopping when Santana sinks to her knees on the grass and throws up.  
  
\--  
  
    It’s amazing Santana lasts until they get to Quinn’s bathroom. She’s been dry heaving all the way home and even though Quinn is _not_ looking forward to cleaning up Santana’s throw up, she is thankful that it’s in her bathroom and not on the stairs. “I’m sorry,” Santana cries ( _that_ Santana couldn’t hold out on) and Quinn really can’t hide the disgusted look on her face. Santana’s dress and Quinn’s left foot (the one that’s already dirty and kind of hurting because, in her haste, totally forgot to go back for the shoe she lost in the hallway. Not that is matters because, you know, _Santana_ ) are covered in throw up and it actually makes Santana sob harder than she was on the walk home.  
  
    “It’s okay,” Quinn says softly, unzipping Santana’s dress. “We’re gonna clean you up and it’s going to be okay.” She pushes the strapless dress down until it hits the floor with a gross slap and then helps Santana around the mess, sitting her down on the toilet.  
  
    “I must look so pathetic.” Quinn debates lying to her but they aren’t that kind of friends (hell, they aren’t those kind of _people_ ), so she says nothing and busies herself by digging through her drawers for a hair tie. “And my boobs are out and you don’t even _like_ boobs and you’re just so fucking nice, Quinn.” Santana sniffs and then cries harder. “Oh my _god_ , what was in my stomach? It smells like _ass_ in here.” Quinn gathers Santana’s hair as best she can, twirling it into a bun so, in case Santana does throw up again (though Quinn’s not sure how she possibly could), her hair will be out of the way.  
  
    “You have very nice boobs, Santana,” Quinn breathes out, grabbing a wash cloth from underneath the sink and wetting it. “Do you feel dizzy? Close your eyes for a sec.” Santana shakes her head as Quinn wipes away any eye makeup Santana had left on, washcloth then following the mascara trails down Santana’s cheeks. “I know your stomach probably still feels horrible, but I won’t let you leave this bathroom until you drink a cup of water.” Santana whines, trying to push Quinn away when the blonde runs the towel over her mouth and chin. “I _will_ hold you in place.”  
  
    “God, is this what you would’ve been like if you kept your kid?” Quinn stops moving and god, even drunk Santana knows saying shit like that isn’t cool. It gets eerily quiet then and Santana can hear Quinn take about four deep breaths before she folds the wash cloth in half and does one last wipe down Santana’s face. “ _Oh my god_ , why do you put up with me?”  
  
    “For some stupid reason, I kind of like having you around,” Quinn mutters, stepping back from Santana to wipe off her own foot. “You want to brush your teeth first or drink the water?”  
  
    “I have to brush my teeth?” Quinn rolls her eyes when _that_ makes Santana start to tear up again.  
  
    “You are not getting in my bed with your mouth smelling like it does. When you’re drunk, you sleep with your mouth open.”  
  
\--  
  
    When she walks back into the bedroom, Santana is curled around the pillow that has since become hers, in nothing but a tank top Quinn’s proud she actually managed to get on, and her underwear. She started crying again, which isn’t surprising considering Quinn was gone for almost a half an hour cleaning the bathroom, and the blonde finds herself slumping against her door as she watches Santana’s body shake with each breath.  
  
    “It shouldn’t be this hard for us.” Quinn pushes herself off her door, going around the bed until she’s kneeling in front of Santana, pushing back some of the dark hair that fell out of the sorry excuse of a bun.  
   
    “It’s just high school. This won’t matter a year from now, San.”  
  
    “God, that’s such complete _bullshit_ , especially coming from you.” Quinn pulls her hand back sharply as Santana takes in a big gulp of air to continue. “Not winning prom queen is going to make you feel even more insecure about yourself for like, _ever,_ even though that stupid piece of plastic doesn’t mean _shit_. Brittany is my _best friend_. I’ve known her since we were eight. She’s always going to matter, more so now that she… That I’m… That.” She squeezes her eyes shut, still unable to say it out loud because there is no coming back from that. She’s not a Fabray, even though she has spent the entire summer thus far in their house. She can’t acknowledge something and then pretend it didn’t happen.  
  
    She rolls on to her back, pushing her palms against her eyes until colors flash on her eyelids. “You think that Rachel isn’t going to be permanently fucked up because of what we did to her? You think that Puck will actually be able to think about high school and _not_ remember you or your baby? High school is what fucking _makes_ us, Quinn. And as of right now, we’re all hopeless.”  
  
    She feels the bed dip next to her and then hands are wrapping around her wrists, pulling them away from her face. “We don’t even know how to be _friends_ , Quinn,” Santana cries, blinking rapidly until she can vaguely make out Quinn’s sad features through her tears. “How fucked up is that? We’re seventeen and we don’t know how to function in a friendship, let alone a relationship. But without you, I’m left with what? Getting drunk every Saturday night, fucking Brittany, and then crying because she doesn’t want _me_. And without me? Fuck, Quinn. I really don’t want to think about that. I don’t understand how you function enough to verbally spar with me everyday with all the crap going on in your head.”  
  
    She closes her eyes again when Quinn lets out a strangled laugh and on top of all her regular shitty feelings, now she feels bad for unloading on Quinn like this. She opens her mouth to apologize for what seems like the millionth time today, but stops when Quinn tugs lightly on her hands. “Sit up. Slowly,” Quinn whispers, voice cracking noticeably. It’s actually a really difficult thing to do because Santana completely forgot how utterly uncoordinated she is at this level of drunk, but Quinn helps, wrapping her arms around Santana when her own arms give out half way.  
  
    She pulls Santana to her chest and this is just getting really weird. The only other person to ever hold her like this is Brittany. Plus, Quinn hasn’t been this sappy since she was pregnant and Santana is 100% certain that’s because all those extra hormones managed to turn Quinn into a normal person. “I know I’m crying and shit, but don’t go all soft on me. I’m only friends with you because then I’m not overwhelmingly bitchy.”  
  
    “So we’re friends then,” Quinn asks lightly, easing back so she can look at Santana with a small crooked grin.  
  
    “Apparently. In our own fucked up way I guess.” Quinn’s smile turns sad then and it really isn’t fucking fair that they’re both so damaged.  
  
    “You think you’ll throw up again?” Santana shakes her head and Quinn tugs at Santana’s messy bun, pulling out the hair tie that wasn’t doing its job. She slides it around her wrist and then pushes Santana’s hair away from her face. She’s still uncharacteristically gentle which is understandable since Santana may as well have had a mental breakdown five minutes ago, and it’s kind of nice because she’s a needy drunk (even if Quinn Fabray is the one with her). So when Quinn kisses the drying trails of tears on her cheeks before placing one more kiss on her lips softly, it’s surprising but not alarming. Quinn has been treating her like a child since she took her away from Brittany and the simple pressure of Quinn’s lips against hers _feels_ platonic. But then Quinn pulls back, eyebrows scrunched together but that left one is still somehow arching, and suddenly Santana’s hyper aware of Quinn _looking_ at her. Not that she hasn’t been all night, but this is different. Curious. Skeptical even.  
  
    She’s not entirely sure who moves first but she really fucking misses Brittany and Quinn doesn’t seem to mind the way Santana’s tongue runs over her bottom lip because her lips part instantly.  
  
    She hasn’t wanted to do this with someone else in a long time, but Quinn’s hands are on her ribs softly, even when her own hands clutch at Quinn’s tank top needily. Thumbs rub against her in soft circles, the tips of Quinn’s nails grazing her breasts with every 360, and Santana whines when one of Quinn’s hands becomes bold enough to slip underneath the fabric bunching at her waist. Quinn’s hands are freezing and she’s pretty sure they’re both shaking even though it’s hot as hell in the room.  
  
    Quinn keeps her hands at Santana’s waist, really not sure if she should continue the path let alone what to do if she does. She grips on to warmed tan skin when Santana pulls back just enough to get some air. Santana’s eyes are still closed but she can feel her eyebrows furrow against her forehead. “What-” Santana cuts herself off when Quinn’s fingers drag up a little bit and when they trace over the curve of her breasts, she locks eyes with Quinn.  
  
    “Show me how to help you,” Quinn whispers and a shiver runs through Santana’s body. Her head is pounding and Santana knows this is not a good idea in the least bit. This is actually something she’ll probably add to her list of fuck ups and this is essentially ruining her safe haven, but Quinn’s hands slide up further, adding just enough experimental pressure that Santana feels her nipples harden beneath Quinn’s palms. She can’t tell if her head is spinning because of the booze and the way she falls back against the pillow or if it’s because Quinn shifts just enough to straddle her thighs. Quinn’s lips trail down her neck, her tongue darting out every so often, and Santana knows she needs more. Her hands cover Quinn’s over her shirt, forcing the blonde to squeeze, and she must have forgotten where her hands were because Quinn pops up with a soft ‘Oh’.  
  
    Her nails are longer than Brittany’s so when Quinn squeezes, there’s a little bit of pain that Santana doesn’t mind in the least bit. “Oh,” Quinn repeats, pulling one hand out from Santana’s shirt, fingers dusting over a hard nipple on the way out. Pale fingers trace a spot near her collarbone and she can’t make out the look on Quinn’s face. “I left a mark.” Santana moves to feel the spot, which is stupid because there’s not really anything to feel, but she’s never let anyone do that to her. It happened once, when she still fucked around with Puck, but she never let Brittany do that.  
  
    God, she really just wants to stop thinking about Brittany.  
  
    “I need more,” she says, her voice catching against her burning throat. Quinn nods, lifting on to her knees and pulling Santana’s underwear far enough so that the brunette can kick them off. It gets kind of awkward then because Quinn’s just _staring_ at her.  
  
    “I… I don’t know what to do,” Quinn admits and Santana laughs loud enough that it makes her head hurt. Quinn’s face scrunches, her cheeks turning red. “Don’t laugh!”  
  
    “I’m sorry, I just…” She trails off, laughing a little more until Quinn gets up. “Wait, no-” Quinn grabs her ankles and bends Santana’s legs, trailing up to her thighs where Quinn pushes them apart. “Okay, _wait_.” Quinn looks up at her from between her legs and Santana tugs her up until Quinn’s hovering above her again. “You can’t just dive in your first time out.” Even though it’s almost completely dark in the room, Santana can see Quinn blush even harder.  
  
    “Does this work,” Quinn asks, her voice husky in Santana’s ear as one long, pale finger drags up her slit.  
  
     _God_ , does it work.  
  
\--  
  
    She doesn’t know why she does it. She doesn’t know why she’s awake.  
  
    But it’s 6 in the morning and she’s sitting in Quinn’s closet because she couldn’t fall back asleep. She shouldn’t be awake this early, should still be passed out on her back, but she laid in bed next to Quinn for what felt like an eternity because when she closed her eyes, nothing happened. Soon enough her mind started thinking about things she isn’t sober enough to process and this was the best distraction she could think of.  
  
    She pulls back the flaps of the cardboard box, and yeah, she figured as much. The hospital blanket is soft against her fingers and she’s surprised that there’s so much underneath it. Ultrasounds, Quinn’s hospital bracelet, tons of pictures. She sees herself in a few of them and she picks up a stack, careful to keep her fingers near the edges.  
  
    The only one Quinn’s pregnant in is the top one.  
  
    Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at each one carefully, just to make sure that her mind isn’t playing tricks on her. Santana knew that Quinn had seen Beth once after she gave birth but these pictures aren’t from one day.  
  
    There’s dates on the backs of all of them.  
  
    June 12th: Quinn’s wearing grey sweatpants and her black tank top is pulled down to expose one breast to nurse Beth, who is clutched tightly in Quinn’s arms. Santana’s never seen Quinn look so miserable but there’s a shadow of a smile on her face.  
  
    June 26th: Beth’s laying in her crib (bassinet? Santana’s not sure what the fuck it is) and there’s a hand on either side of her. Santana can only assume one is Quinn’s and the other is Shelby’s.  
  
    July 4th: Beth’s done up in a red, white, and blue dress, a large white daisy on her headband. She’s sitting up against Quinn’s stomach and her friend has her lips pressed to the blonde curls on top of the baby’s head.  
  
    August 2nd: Quinn’s laying on her back and Beth is on her stomach, her head raised to look at her mother. As opposed to the first picture, she’s not sure she’s ever seen Quinn look so happy. Even though it’s just the profile of the two girls, Santana can tell Quinn’s smile takes up her entire face and there’s this look in her eye that Santana’s never seen before.  
  
    There are so many more pictures in the box and in most of them, Quinn’s being a mother to that little girl she supposedly gave up before she left the hospital.  
  
    There’s a noise behind her and when Santana turns from the picture she’s looking at (Quinn in a rocking chair with Beth in her arms and it’s scary just how much they look alike), Quinn’s leaning in the doorway, her hands pressing against her stomach.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! Life had taken over for a while and I've actually been seriously working on my novel after I finished my epic fic. This was going to be a bit longer but I think this can stand on its own and, frankly, I owe you all an update! Enjoy!

“Sometimes it was just the two of us, like it’d always been and I suddenly remembered how to breathe again… Just me and my baby which was all I’d ever need… All I had.” Santana doesn’t get up from the floor, her finger outlining the curve of Beth’s smile in the picture and Quinn’s hand twitches against her stomach. “I never should have gone over there… It hurts so much more now than it did during those first three days without her.”

    Santana puts the picture back in the box, plucking Quinn’s hospital bracelet from the hidden memories. “Why did you go over there?”

    “She was mine,” Quinn states and Santana blinks. Once upon a time, she thought she had someone like that. Brittany was hers right? At some point or another, it’d just been them, like all those stolen afternoons at Mitch’s.

    She supposes _was_ is the word they both should be paying attention to. Or maybe they shouldn’t have ever thought they had the right to anyone else.

    Santana slips her hand into Quinn’s hospital bracelet before she gathers up the rest of the pictures and tucks them back in the box. “It’s not really easy to pretend, is it?” Quinn licks her lips, watching Santana carefully as she stands up. Quinn can still feel how scratchy the bracelet was around her wrist and the way it weighed her to the bed when Beth was taken away. “At the end of the day, we both retreat inside our dark little closets.”

    Santana scoops Quinn’s hand in hers, plastic pressing into her skin. A kiss is pressed to Quinn’s lips and just like everything else, it feels achingly familiar. Santana pulls away once they get to the bed and Quinn simply watches as he friend lays out on her side. Quinn’s hospital bracelet is the only thing Santana wears and it seems blindingly white against he tan skin. Quinn doesn’t understand how Santana can move so freely when that bracelet felt like a shackle to her. “Aren’t you going to put that back?”

    Santana shrugs, patting the sheets next to her. “I will tomorrow, that way you can’t pretend this didn’t happen.”

    Quinn quirks an eyebrow as she sits in her normal spot, fingers picking at the plastic band. “You underestimate my abilities.” Quinn reaches down to the foot of the bed and pulls the sheet over both of them before she lays down.

    Santana catches her hand again, this time lacing their fingers together. If there were anymore light, Quinn would be able to call Santana on the look she’s wearing but for now, Quinn decides it’s just shadows tricking her into thinking Santana’s scared. “Tonight never happened,” she asks. “I never made an absolute ass of myself, I don’t know that you were a _mother_ for three months and you-” She stops herself and Quinn watches Santana squeeze her thighs together. “Why the fuck did you even do that?”

    Quinn’s fingers slip beneath the flat square where her information is typed, along with the words ‘Baby Girl Fabray’. “You were upset.” Her voice is tinier than she’d like it to be

    Santana looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “So you decided to explore lesbianism?”

    “Are you saying that what you and Brittany did was different?”

    Santana pulls her wrist away from Quinn, glaring at the blonde as she tries to put more space between them. “You’re a lot fucking smarter than that.”

    “I’m not going to push you on something I know you don’t want to talk about. Isn’t that something friends do?” Santana’s hand rests on her stomach and Quinn swallows hard, carefully taking Santana’s hand in hers. Santana doesn’t pull away but she doesn’t get any closer either, their hands rising and falling with each breath Santana takes. “I was just trying to take your mind off everything and maybe make you feel better. That’s all okay?”

    Santana sighs, their hands sinking into her stomach. “Okay.”

    Somehow, Quinn thinks that wasn’t the right thing to say.

\--

    Quinn wakes up this time not because she’s alone in bed, but because everything feels too close. She doesn’t really know how they got like this when for months they were able to share this bed without touching. But Santana is pressed against her back and Quinn can feel the hospital bracelet pressing into her spine. Her head is sinking in to her pillow and the sheet somehow got balled up in front of her. She pushes it away violently as she realizes her arms cradle it the same way they cradled her stomach when she was pregnant, Santana jerking awake behind her.

    “Stop,” Santana pleas, clutching her forehead as she rolls on to her back. “Please just… No sudden movements.” Santana groans behind her as Quinn slinks from the bed, dropping into a heap on the floor. She rummages through Santana’s bag, ignoring the fact that the remote is digging into her ass until she finds a bottle of Aleve.

    “Is there any water next to you?” Santana just groans again before complaining about Quinn’s useless curtains. Quinn sighs and dry swallows one of the pills before taking out two for Santana. “Here,” she offers, stretching across the bed. Quinn stays sprawled out on the mattress once Santana takes the pills from her, her eyes heavy and her whole body sticky from the heat that’s swallowing Lima whole.

    There’s so much she doesn’t want to deal with right now and so Quinn focuses on the only thing she can: breathing. She breathes evenly, deeply, staring at the triangle of moles on Santana’s ribs. She briefly thinks about reaching out to trace them before remembering she touched that spot last night, when it was dark and just the two of them. Now that the sun is flooding the room, everything is clearer and different. She can feel her heart start to beat harder against her chest. “I should get ready for work,” she sighs, pushing herself on to her elbows.

    Santana peeks out from behind her arm, the hospital bracelet catching in her thick hair. Quinn can’t make out the look on her friend’s face but her heart pounds a little harder and her breath catch as Santana just continues to look at her. “He doesn’t know, does he,” Santana asks and no, Quinn can’t do this right now. Quinn pushes herself off the bed and when Santana doesn’t say anything or follow her, she feels herself breathe a little easier again.

\--

    She gives Quinn five minutes purely because she’s hungover and not at all eager to deal with her own shit just yet. (Santana knows Quinn. That bitch’ll definitely bring up Brittany just to deflect.) It still vaguely smells like vomit in the bathroom and damn it, it almost makes Santana reconsider barging in because Quinn had to clean her throw up last night.

    Quinn sits, completely curled into herself, as the shower runs over her. “If you want to date him or fuck him or _whatever_ , keeping that from him is shitty.”

    “Shut up, Santana.” Quinn’s voice is garbled, her face hidden behind the fog on the shower door, and Santana runs her fingers through her hair.

    “Clearly I shouldn’t have been so angry with Puck for making out with you and fucking the whale because this is probably even _more_ fucked up.” She can vaguely see Quinn shaking her head and Santana crosses her arms under her chest. “Has he even seen Beth since you got rid of her?”

    Quinn gets to her feet so fast that she slips a little, but she grabs on to the shower door, and slides it open. It rattles against the other and Santana takes a step back in fear of it shattering. “I didn’t get rid of her,” Quinn screams. Santana can finally see how red Quinn’s eyes are and she’d be lying if she said that the way Quinn’s shaking wasn’t scaring her. “You have no fucking idea what it’s like to have the greatest thing ever taken from you.” Santana opens her mouth but Quinn shakes her head, reaching out to grab Santana’s wrist. “You’ve been without Brittany for what? Less than a day?”

    “Don’t fucking bring her into this,” Santana starts when Quinn’s fingers dig into her skin.

    “I _love_ Puck, and that’s why I don’t want him to feel as shitty as I do.” Quinn looks Santana up her down, shaking her head. “Like _we_ do.”

    Santana’s body sags. “Q…” Quinn shakes her head, shoving Santana away from her.

    “I’ve already lost my baby… I can’t lose him too.”

    She can tell that Quinn is trying the absolute hardest not to cry and Santana wonders if she should get one of Quinn’s pills to calm her down. The blonde is still shaking and she’s starting to gasp for breath. “Are you going to throw up or pass out,” Santana asks and when Quinn doesn’t respond, she steps forward, taking Quinn’s hand off the shower. “Sit down.” Quinn lets out this noise from the back of her throat (god she sounds like a kicked puppy) as Santana takes Quinn’s hands in hers. Santana steps in the tub behind Quinn, hissing when the scalding hot water hits her toes.

    “Go away please,” Quinn grits out, letting go of Santana’s hand and curling into herself again as she sits down.

    “No.” Quinn looks up at her and Santana frowns, pushing Quinn’s fading blonde hair off her face. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Quinn’s head drops to her knees and Santana sits down behind the blonde. She wraps her arms around Quinn, her thighs on either side of her friend and presses a kiss on the back of Quinn’s neck. “I know all your shit and I’m still here. You won’t lose me.”

    An ugly, wretched sob tears through Quinn’s throat and Santana has never seen Quinn cry like this before.

    She completely understands why Quinn did what she did last night. Quinn is literally breaking in her arms and Santana knows that words will fall short. She’ll say something wrong or not enough and the only other thing that Santana can think to do is hold Quinn, kiss her, make her forget…

    Quinn’s hands hold on to Santana’s forearm and bites into her flesh, releasing a scream as she cries. Santana just kisses her neck until the water goes cold and Quinn stops shaking.

\--

    Santana thinks Quinn is going to have another panic attack when she tells her that she’s not letting Quinn go to work. Instead of telling Quinn that she looks like absolute shit when she complains, Santana just glares and dials Quinn’s boss for her.

    Quinn passes out shortly after that and Santana is about to do the same when the front door closes. She grabs one of Quinn’s dresses from the floor when she hears Judy’s laugh, making sure her boobs aren’t completely busting out of the top before heading downstairs.

    This time Judy and  Russell are in the living room and it’s really kind of gross the way they’re looking at each other. Santana clears her throat and Judy tears her eyes away from her husband. “Oh, hello Santana.” Russell looks back at her too and she’s sure she looks absolutely ridiculous in this dress (it’s like, two sizes too small on the top and this yellow is stupidly cheerful, which is hilarious because it’s _Quinn’s_ ) but she doesn’t really give a shit about whether or not she has Russell’s approval. “Did you need something?”

    “Quinn’s home.”

    Russell coughs and Judy’s eyes widen. “But she’s supposed to be at work.”

    “She’s sick,” Santana answers simply. “She’s asleep upstairs right now.”

    Russell rolls his eyes before clearing his throat. “We can go to my apartment, Jude,” he says, reaching for her hand but Judy slaps it away.

    “Is she alright? She doesn’t have a fever does she?” She knows that Judy isn’t _horrible_ but it’s still weird to see her act so motherly. It’s like seeing a teacher out of school.

    “She’s fine. We’ve managed all morning. I’m just letting you guys know.”

    “Thank you,” Russell says and Santana rolls her eyes.

    “Quinn doesn’t need to deal with this fuckery when she’s sick. I hope she finds out about you two as soon as possible.”

    Russell’s face turns red and Santana sees his hands flex. “You’ve been letting _this_ piece of trash stay here?”

    “Excuse me,” Santana shouts and Judy jumps up, stepping so she’s slightly in front of Russell.

    “Both of you, _please_ just…” Judy shakes her head and, no, this is _bullshit_.

    “I now _completely_ understand why Quinn hates both of you.”

    She thinks Judy might look hurt when Santana turns to walk away but she doesn’t give a shit. She can only handle so many Fabray problems in one day.

\--

    She can’t be laying down for more than 5 minutes when there’s a soft knock on the door. Quinn stirs a little next to her but then, thankfully, starts snoring again.

    “Santana? Can I speak with you for a minute?”

    Santana manages to find one of her own tank tops and an old pair of Cheerio shorts that really could belong to either of them. She opens the door just enough to see Judy’s face. She notices that Judy took off all of her eye make up but that her lips have a fresh coat of lipstick. “Downstairs, please? I don’t want to wake Quinn.”

    Santana slips out the door. “Are you kicking me out,” she asks. “Because I have things I need to grab if you are.”

    Judy shakes her head as she starts down the stairs. “You’re always welcome here.”

    “If Russell is going to apologize-”

    “I sent Russell home.” Judy clears her throat, hands adjusting the waist of her pencil skirt. “He wouldn’t have apologized even if he was here, you know that.” Judy sits where she had been earlier, her posture rigid, and pats the cushion next to her. “I am sorry for what he said to you though. It was completely inappropriate.”

    Santana rolls her eyes. “Little late for apologizes, Judy.” Santana drops down on to the couch, her arms crossed under her chest. “Are you going to like… Convince me to keep quiet again?”

    “Is Quinn okay? She’s not…” Judy bites her bottom lip and, fuck, it’s kind of crazy how 10 minutes ago she looked like some school girl with eyes she was giving Russell but now she looks worn down and sad. God, what’s even worse she that Judy looks even more like Quinn when she looks like this. “She’s not…” Judy sighs, hand coming up to rub along her brow. “Is she purging again?”

    “What? No, of course not.” Judy exhales, her body relaxing into the couch. “Quinn hasn’t done that since she found out about…”

    Judy shakes her head so discretely that Santana almost doesn’t catch it but blue eyes start to well up with tears. “I just wanted to make sure. I know that I haven’t exactly been helpful when it comes to that.”

    Santana coughs. “She just had a really bad panic attack.”

    Judy nods. “So she’s okay?”

    “Okay is not a word I’d use to describe Quinn,” Santana scoffs.

    Judy runs her hands over her thighs. “I know I’m not a great parent-”

    “You’re actually kind of a shitty parent.”

    “There’s no manual for this stuff, Santana. It’s _hard_.” Santana folds her legs Indian style and pulls one of the throw pillows into her lap. She needs to prepare herself for the crap Judy is going to try and feed her. “I’ve been with Russell for nearly 30 years. How am I just supposed to throw that all away?”

    “Um, I don’t know, maybe think of all the absolutely horrible shit he did to you and your daughters?” She knows her own mother isn’t perfect and, well, if she ever found out about the lady loving, her mom would kick her out on her ass, but at least her mom doesn’t take any of her father’s bullshit. Santana can remember one of the rare times her parents were both home when she was younger and they’d been fighting. Her dad told her mom to shut up and her mom locked her dad out of the house. “I’m pretty sure my parents only like each other now but they still treat each other better than Russell treats you.”

    “It’s not easy to just let someone you love go, no matter what they do to you. You may be too young to understand that now-”

    Santana shoves the pillow she’s been holding into Judy’s lap. “He cheated on you! He threw your daughter out of the house! And he’s a drunk! If you want to let him treat you like crap, fine. But it’s disgusting that you’d let him back into your life when Quinn, your _daughter_ , is still in it.”

    Judy gets to her feet when Santana does. “I’m _trying_ to figure out what’s right.”

    “Yeah, well, you’re doing a shit job.” She turns to go back upstairs but then there’s a hand on her shoulder. Manicured nails and Judy’s wedding ring (Santana can’t remember the last time she saw it on the woman’s hand) fill her vision. Santana locks her jaw and turns, trying not to notice the tears filling Judy’s eyes.

    “Don’t speak to me like that.” Judy’s voice is small but her shoulders are rolled back, her posture perfect. Santana knows she shouldn’t speak like this to a parent but, no. Judy isn’t exactly a _parent_ to anyone. Just because Quinn shot out of her, doesn’t mean she deserves any ounce of respect, especially when Santana care more about Quinn than Judy. “How do you expect me to stand up to my husband when I allow you to walk all over me too?”

    “Do you still love him?”

    Judy’s hand drops to her side. Her nails dig into her thighs through her skirt, her shoulders slipping just a little. “I don’t think you can ever really fall out of love with someone, Santana.”

    “Wonderful,” Santana mutters under her breath. She bites her bottom lip for a second before she drops it; she’s been spending too much time with Quinn if she’s starting to do that now. “Look, I’m just trying to be honest with you. I’ll try and be more… Respectful in the future, but as long as I feel like I’m the only one in this house who actually gives a fuck about that girl upstairs, I’m not retracting my claws.”

    Sighing, Judy nods, her hand coming up to wipe away the few tears that land on her cheeks. “She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”

    Santana rolls her eyes before heading upstairs.

\--

    She wakes up to the most annoying array of sounds. A phone keeps vibrating endlessly against the bedside table and another, she thinks hers, is chiming every five minutes, not to mention the stupid bird that’s made a nest just outside her window. “San, shut everything up,” Quinn grumbles, folding her pillow around her head. The noises don’t stop, at least not the ones Santana can deal with, and Quinn juts out her leg to wake the brunette up, but her leg just slides easily across the mattress. Rolling on to her stomach, Quinn props herself on to her elbows. She shakes her hair out of her face the best she can, only pushing it back when she realizes that Santana’s just walking into the room. “Where’d you go?”

    Santana starts to say something but then the phones start up again and Santana’s face pinches. “Who is blowing up our fucking phones?” Santana grabs one of the phones, Quinn’s, off the floor, and looks at it once before tossing it to Quinn. “S’your boy toy.”

    Quinn doesn’t even bother checking the messages (or the two voicemails) before turning her phone off. “I’m guessing yours is Brittany? Or maybe your mom?” Santana glares as she taps at her phone and Quinn drops down on her stomach, wrapping her arms around her pillow. “What’d she say?”

    “Doesn’t matter,” Santana breathes out. Dropping on to the bed, Santana turns on the tv, her phone silenced and back on the floor. Santana won’t look at her, just stays staring at the tv, but Quinn doesn’t stop looking at her. Santana pulls repeatedly at the loose thread on her tank top and won’t stop fidgeting, her leg jiggling to the point where Quinn’s getting annoyed.

    Quinn pokes her with her foot. “What did she say, Santana?”

    “Nothing she hasn’t already told me.” Quinn pokes her again and Santana shrugs, looking at her for a moment before going back to the tv. “Are we okay?” Quinn blinks, her head cocking a little.

    “Why wouldn’t we be,” Quinn asks and Santana scoffs, pulling her hair into a bun before she lets it fall around her shoulders again.

    “Are you shitting me? Everything’s different now.”

    Quinn pushes herself up, pulling just enough of the sheet on her lap to cover her. “No. Nothing has to change.”

    “ _Bullshit_.” The hospital bracelet is still around Santana’s wrist and Quinn takes a deep breath. “I’ve fucked friends before and in case you’ve blocked it out, it didn’t end well.”

    “Trust me, Santana,” Quinn starts as she stands up, the sheet falling and leaving her nude not for the first time in front of her friend, “I’m not going to end up like Brittany. I’m not going to fall in love with you and you are not going to fall in love with me.”

    “Okay, so let’s say we never fuck again. Fine. That doesn’t mean I can block out the rest of your crap anymore. You are such a _mess_ and I’m not going to enable you anymore.”

    Quinn steps into the first pair of underwear she pulls from the drawer, the fabric snapping at her hips. “ _Enable_ me? I’ve been functioning well enough this summer exactly as we were.”

    She crosses her arms underneath her chest and Santana rolls her eyes. “You’ve been _functioning_. You need to start fucking living, Quinn. We _both_ do. We’ve been through so much shit and ignoring it _clearly_ isn’t fucking working. If anything, we’re both even more screwed than before.”

    Santana sounds too much like the therapist the hospital made her speak to after she gave up custody of Beth. Quinn can’t even remember the woman’s name now, only what she said. “What you’ve just gone through is exceptionally hard, Lucy.” The use of her first name caused her to tense and her entire body ached more than she thought it could. “It’s not something any woman, no matter what age, can easily move past. Most women find it beneficial to talk through what they’re feeling. Otherwise, it’ll just eat at you.” Her mom had been right next to her, had taken the list of therapists the woman recommended, thanked the woman for really doing absolutely nothing. They didn’t talk about it until Quinn was back home in her own bed for the first time in months, but Judy didn’t push it when Quinn simply replied that she would be fine.

    “Can we please just stop lying to each other,” Santana pleads. She doesn’t sound desperate, doesn’t look it. Santana tucks her thumbs between her fingers and squeezes her hands into fists as she waits, only relaxing when Quinn does. “Brittany fucking told me she was sorry and that she’s going to stop going to the parties on weekends because she doesn’t want to see me. I’m literally not going to see her anymore.”

    Quinn swallows hard. She brings her thumb up, chewing at her skin before standing straight. “I can’t stop crying as easy as you,” she admits.

    Santana breathes out, nodding carefully as she pats the space next to her.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! An update! Hopefully these should be a bit more consistent as I recently got laid off BUT school also just started back up so we shall see! Anyway, I'm hoping this chapter goes over well because I was a bit iffy on how in character our ladies were towards the end. Thanks to Az for reading this over for me. Enjoy!

She doesn’t think she can be alone today.

    For a minute, she debates asking Quinn if she can tag along with her to work but then she finds herself reminding Quinn that she needed to tell Puck about the kid. Quinn may get the literal and metaphorical nudge if Santana went, but she realizes now that this isn’t something she can bully her way through. Quinn needs to do this herself and, well, Santana supposes she should learn how to stand firmly on her own two feet again.

    She texts her mom shortly after Quinn leaves and they make plans for dinner. She was hoping for something a little sooner but her mom _is_ still a doctor and has to work to pay for the giant house that no one seems to live in anymore.

    Sighing, Santana slumps down on the edge of the side of the bed. There’s clothes scattered around the room but other than that, Quinn’s room is annoyingly clean. It won’t take her more than five minutes to pick up the room and god damn this is frustrating. Before Brittany cut her out, she was able to just sit in Quinn’s room all day, passing her time writing and watching shit tv. It shouldn’t be any different now.

    She decides to head over to Mitch’s as she’s getting dressed but once she’s downstairs (which is significantly cooler than upstairs), cursing filters from the kitchen.

    Judy is kneeling on the counter, all of the cabinet doors open and an array of dishes are stacked on the island. Uncharacteristically, Judy is wearing slacks instead of a dress or skirt and Santana thinks that she’s not even wearing make up. The older woman practically growls as she rips what looks like wallpaper off the bottom of the cabinet she’s in front of. “Are you okay,” Santana asks, actually feeling bad when Judy jumps a little.

    Carefully sitting down, Judy sighs. “Sorry. As I was getting ready this morning, work just seemed like an awful idea but then, so did doing nothing,” Judy explains, balling up the ruined paper. “So I decided to re-line the shelves since they’ve been the same since we moved in and you know what I remembered?” Santana shakes her head even though she’s 75% sure that was a rhetorical question. “I can’t line shelves to save my life.” Judy kind of laughs then and hops down. “It’s too fucking difficult.” Santana’s eyes widen and Judy picks up a stack of plates; the plain white square ones that she uses on a regular basis. “I told Russell that we needed to slow things down last night.”

    She falls in line next to Judy, grabbing the bowls from the counter and sets them to the right of the plates. “What’d he say?”

    Judy picks up one of the glasses, the bottoms square to match the rest of the dishware, and uses the end of her blouse to buff out a smudge on the rim. “He hung up on me,” she announces almost proudly and when Santana looks at the older woman, Judy wears a smile. “He called me back at one in the morning and apologized. I don’t think he’s _ever_ apologized to me.”

    Santana takes the cup, starting a straight line as best she can with the cups Judy passes to her. “You didn’t really waste any time after our talk,” Santana says evenly and Judy shakes her head like she’s unaware of the way Santana’s inspecting her.

    “We’d been talking for nearly an hour and not once did he bring up Quinn.” Judy’s hand finds purchase on her hip, now simply watching as Santana continues to put the contents of the cupboard back. “I spent half the night worrying if I should go in and talk to my daughter and the only thing he was worried about was when he’d see me next.” Judy sighs and rubs her temple. Santana notices that the wedding ring she spotted the day before has already disappeared from Judy’s slender fingers. “For the first time, that didn’t sit well with me.”

    Santana nods and closes the cupboard that is once again filled with pristine dishes. “And after he apologized for hanging up on you?”

    “We fought some more.” Judy’s voice remains upbeat and Santana thinks Judy’s missing the point of standing up for herself.

    Santana hops on to the counter where Judy had been when she first walked in. “So...” Judy stares at her like some sort of show dog and Santana sighs. “Is this just going to be a cycle? You’ve done this once before, right after Quinn gave-”

    Judy shakes her head, body rigid as she puts her hands up. “No,” bursts out of Judy’s mouth and Santana moves around the kitchen, closing everything so it not longer looks like Paranormal Activity 2.

    “God damn Fabray women,” Santana mutters under her breath. She rounds the island, holding her head in her hands as she stares at Judy, whose smile finally slips. “I’m glad  you stood up to Russell.”

    Judy’s cheeks twitch. “But I still don’t know what I’m doing.” Santana nods and Judy sighs, picking up her mug and walking over to the coffee pot.

    “You can’t even bring up the-”

    “I know,” Judy shouts, Santana’s eyes widening. “I’m sorry but… Please, just don’t.”

    “You guys have _got_ to stop ignoring shit.”

    Judy pours herself coffee, dark liquid splashing over the rim. Santana can see the steam floating from the cup and when the coffee hits Judy’s fingers it _should_ hurt her, but the blonde doesn’t even flinch. “After I gave birth to Quinn’s sister, I spoke to a therapist.” Santana stays quiet while Judy sips her coffee. It surprises her that Judy takes it black. “Russell didn’t like it at all but I was suffering from post partum and I couldn’t medicate.” Santana runs her hand through her hair, bites the inside of her cheek to stop herself from something bitchy. “I only went a few times but it helped… Maybe it could help now.”

    Judy looks to Santana for confirmation and, god, Santana didn’t realize that she was going to be the adult of the house when she started shacking up here. “What do you have to lose?”

    “Russell and Quinn won’t like it,” Judy says as she drums her nails on the ceramic cup.

    The clock above the sink reads 10 and she knows if she doesn’t leave soon, she’ll melt before she gets to Mitch’s. “I’m going to have dinner with my mom tonight so maybe you should try talking to Quinn then,” Santana throws out there as she stands up.

    “You don’t want to be here for the show,” Judy teases and Santana rolls her eyes before giving Judy a small smile.

    “Good luck.”

\--

    Puck comes in not too long after Santana texts her saying she’s actually going home for the night. “You okay,” he asks when he finds her sunk into a beanbag chair in the kids section.

    She nods, giving him a small smile as he sits down next to her. “Just a lot of stuff happened.”

    “Want to talk about it?” He pulls Goodnight Moon from the bookshelf next to him, flipping through the cardboard pages once she shakes her head.

    They slip into the routine that’s been established over the past few weeks. They talk about mostly everything as they move around the store and she smiles a lot more than she has in a while. Santana’s voice is in the back of her head though, telling her that this isn’t right, but how is she supposed to give this up? It’s been so long since she felt something close to happiness. She knows it’s selfish as hell but-

    A woman walks into the shop with a toddler on her hip and Puck stops mid-sentence when he sees them. “If you need anything, let me know,” Quinn greets from behind the desk. She feels that phantom flutter again, low in her belly, and she pushes herself flush against the wood, creating different pressure points to try and confuse her body. It’s quiet between them, uncomfortable so, and she turns the radio up a little louder. She can still hear the kid babbling to it’s mother down one of the aisles and it freezes her up. Puck’s watching her as he continues, slowly, sorting the books. She closes her eyes. “Why didn’t you see her without me?”

    He takes one of her hands in his, more careful with her than he’s been in a long time. He would’ve treated Beth with the utmost tenderness. Suddenly guilt starts weighing her down. “I tried,” he answers honestly. She opens her eyes just in time to see him shrug. “It’s _scary_ alone.” She nods, even though she’d use a much stronger word than scary. “Didn’t feel right without you.” Those words nip at her and she almost tells him then.

    'Wonderful Tonight' starts playing on the radio as Puck flattens her hand with his. She squeezes his hand, trying to force words passed the lump in her throat, but he walks around the cart of books he’s been going through, their clasped hands in the air. “Remember when you’d let me do this?”

    She smirks, his arm wrapping around her waist. “Begrudgingly,” she answers as she places her free hand on his shoulder.

    “You always pretended it annoyed you,” he comments, pulling away just enough to spin her.

    “Sometimes it _did_. I would be trying to do homework and you’d want me to dance.”

    “S’cause that’s one of the only times you’d actually smile.”

    She goes a little stiff in his arms but lets him pull her close. Quinn clears her throat. “Wasn’t able to get this close before.” Puck shakes his head, his hand patting her skirt just above her ass. “You should go see her,” she whispers, ducking her head underneath his chin.

    She feels him move underneath her. “Will you come with me?” His voice cracks just so and the song ends, moving on to a commercial for the drive in on the edge of town.

    She wonders if she’ll ever be able to _not_ let him down.

    She turns around, lowering the radio before repining her hair, just to keep her hands busy. “I can’t.”

    Crying comes from one of the aisles and, haggard, the mom darts towards the door as she rubs the baby’s back.

\--

    She’s prepared to disappear upstairs as soon as she gets home. Her mom, however, is coming out of the living room as Quinn walks through the door, the kitchen timer keeping loudly. “I hope you didn’t make a lot,” Quinn says as she tosses her keys into the bowl in the hall. “Santana wo-”

    “I know,” Judy cuts in, hand careful ling checking to make sure her hair is pulled back smoothly. “I thought we could eat at the table tonight.” Quinn looks over at the formal dining set and shakes her head. She hasn’t sat at the table in over a year and she doesn’t think she’ll start now. “I’d really like to eat together, Quinn.”

    Her attention snaps back to her mom, the beeping getting louder. “We can eat at the island.” The smile on her mom’s face is too hopeful. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”

    “Come down after. Everything should be done then,” Judy calls out as she takes off to the kitchen.”

\--

    Normally she wouldn’t bother putting make up on but she can’t remember the last time she ate alone with her mother and a perfect face is the best shield she’ll get right now.

    Judy’s all ready set two places at the island, some sort of casserole in front of the plate, rice and beans in a side dish. Their glasses are empty but Quinn can see the print of her mother’s lips along the rim of her wine glass.

    “What’d you like to drink,” Judy asks from inside the fridge.

    Quinn hesitantly sits down. “Just water.” She moves her place setting and chair away from her mom just a little bit more.

    Her mom fills their cups with water before finally settling down next to Quinn. “I saw this recipe a little while back but never got around to trying it,” Judy explains as she cuts out a decent size square and slides it on to Quinn’s plate. “It’s kind of a deconstructed enchilada dish.”

    Quinn pokes at the square, pulling a little bit of cheese off the top. Her mom continues talking about nothing Quinn cares about. She waits until her mom has filled their plates before she sets her fork down. “What is all this?”

    Her mom stops mid sentence. She smoothes out the napkin in her lap before turning in her seat to look at Quinn for the first time since she sat down. Simply, Judy answers, “Dinner.” Quinn can’t stop the way her eyes narrow and her mom swallows audibly. “We need to talk.”

    Quinn stabs at the casserole on her plate. “We’re not the type of family that does that.”

    “Maybe we should be.” Quinn glances at her mom and though Judy looks calm, her knuckles are white around her glass. “I want us all to go counseling.”

    Quinn’s shaking her head before Judy even finishes the sentence. “Absolutely not.”

    Her mom quirks an eyebrow. “That’s exactly what your father said.”

    “Well I did used to be his favorite _before_ he decided I didn’t exist,” Quinn spits, pushing away from the counter.

    “Obviously that’s something that needs to be discussed. A lot of things need to be dealt with so that-”

    “So that what? We can pretend that we’re a big happy family until Daddy cheats on you _again_ and you slip back into drinking two bottles of wine a day?” Judy tries to catch her hand but Quinn puts her arms up. “And I spend the next year worrying that anything I do will get me kicked out? God, you’ll probably send me back to church.”

    “What do you _want_ then, Quinn?” Her mother’s voice is loud and upset but surprisingly not angry. Judy throws her napkin on her plate before turning in her seat so she can look Quinn in the eye. Judy folds her hands in her lap, her breathing a little ragged. “Is continuing on like we have been preferable to you? I’m trying to fix things but it seems like you’re content with blaming me for the rest of your life.” There’s bite in her words and Quinn fists her hands at her side as she takes another step away from her mother.

    She still has to live another year in this house, one more year until she can get out of this stupid town, and so she bites down on her tongue until she tastes blood. She will not say what she wants because the fear of getting thrown out of this house _again_ stands next to her like a shadow.

    Judy takes a breath, sagging in her chair. “Just go once. Please.”

    Quinn can feel herself shaking her head before she realizes it and Judy runs a hand through her hair, ruining her perfect French twist. “If he’s going to be there…” Quinn wraps her arms around her waist. “No.” She feels nauseous and she wishes that there was a better escape than an empty room upstairs, a better escape outside of _Lima_.

    “If your father doesn’t go,” Judy asks and Quinn doesn’t know what to do other than shrug.

    “I need to just…” She closes her eyes and feels like screaming. “I’m going upstairs.”

    “Qu-”

    “Give. Me. Time,” she grits out, not once pausing when she finally turns to leave the room.

\--

    Santana expects no one to be at her house when she finally gets there around 4. It’s why she puts on a new record (though it’s not really new because it’s Tragic Kingdom) and turns the volume up. She can feel the music under her skin, allowing her to smile for the first time in days. But then, just before Spiderwebs breaks into the chorus, the sound cuts out, replaced with, “Hey there, Boo Boo, Surprised to see you here.”

    She tucks the pack of cigarettes she was fishing out from between her mattresses back, turning around with a smile. “I’d say the same to you, Dad. I thought you’d still be at work.”

    He shakes his head, slipping his hands into the pockets on his slacks. “Your mom told me you were joining us for dinner tonight. Seemed like a good enough excuse to get off early. I feel like I haven’t seen you all summer, mija.”

    “S’cause you haven’t.” She doesn’t say it to be cruel, she actually doesn’t care that her parents work insane hours because it keeps her safe, but she watches guilt fill her father’s eyes anyway. “It’s _okay_ , Dad.”

    He sighs, shaking his head the tiniest bit, before rolling back his shoulders. “Let’s go catch a movie. By the time we’re out, your mom can join us for dinner.”

    Movies put the perfect amount of distance between them (allows her time with her father but leaves no room for questions and lies). “Only if we can get popcorn.”

\--

    Dinner is not eaten in near silence like it is at Quinn’s. Instead, almost everything that’s said is used as fuel for an argument that feels like it’s lasted Santana’s entire life. It’s so rare that the three of them are actually together that she hasn’t built up a tolerance; Their words don’t turn into white noise and she hears every bitchy comment loud and clear.

    Santana stabs a crouton and a leaf of lettuce when her mom slams her glass on the table. Phyllis, who is undoubtedly Santana’s favorite waitress, starts to walk over to check on them but Santana smiles, subtly shaking her head. She doesn’t want to create an even bigger scene.

    Her father huffs and tosses his napkin on the table before pushing back his chair. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

    Her mother rolls her eyes and clears her throat. “Never should’ve told him about our dinner plans,” Mrs. Lopez mutters. “But then I never would’ve heard the end of _that_.” Even though Santana’s fairly sure her father isn’t done with his salad, her mother stacks her empty plate on top of his and passes them to Phyllis when she passes. “Are you not friends with Brittany anymore, mija?” Santana takes a long drink from her water to avoid the question. “I only ask because, well, you don’t normally _like_ Quinn.”

    “I like Quinn,” she answers but her mother raises a questioning brow. “She wasn’t my _favorite_ person but…” Santana shrugs. Quinn is her friend now, she just can’t explain to her mother how exactly that happened. She’s not entirely sure she could explain it if she wanted to anyway.

    Her mother puts her hands up to show no ill will and then looks over her shoulder for Mr. Lopez. “I like Quinn more anyway,” her mother says casually and Santana realizes very quickly that Mrs. Lopez is purposely not holding eye contact with her. “She’s more up to par…”

    Santana fists her hands around her napkin. “Brittany’s not stupid.”

    Mrs. Lopez looks at her finally, eyes wide. “No, she’s not. But Quinn is better suited-”

    “Mom,” Santana barks and she tries not to notice the few heads that turn, once again, to look at their table. “Stop talking about Brittany.”

    “Mija, I was just saying.” Her mother uses the same tone she uses when she speaks to Mr. Lopez. “There is no need to get so snippy.”

    Santana rolls her eyes. Her father returns to the table and she turns almost completely away from her mother. “Do you think we could fit in another movie before I go back to school,” she asks and a smile spreads beneath his graying moustache.

    “Of course, Boo Boo. You gotta let me know ahead of time though.” She nods as Phyllis sets their plates down. Santana glances over to where her mother is obviously pouting. Mrs. Lopez looks at her food with disgust but then something flashes across her eyes.

    “Did your sister call you today?”

    Her father’s fork slips from his hand and he instantly starts murmuring in Spanish the way he used to when she was in trouble as a child. “Can you believe it,” he shouts, his face flushed when he finally looks up.

    Her mother puts her hand on his arm, ushering him to lower his voice. “I told you that no teenage boy is that nice without a secret or two.”

    Santana blinks between the two, cautiously nibbling on a breadstick. “What happened?”

    “It’s so disgusting,” Mr. Lopez spits and her mother nods.

    “Aunt Maria caught John with a boy from his basketball team.” Santana snaps the breadstick in two, her stomach lurching. “His hand was-” Her mother stops short and shakes her head, hand going to her throat. “I can’t even say it.”

    Santana drops the breadstick on her plate and then wipes her sweaty hands on her jeans. “What-” Her father starts to lean across the table when her voice cracks but she scoots back before he can touch her. “What did she do?”

    “Kicked his ass out,” her father says, almost proud. “She couldn’t let him keep sharking a room with Gabriel.” Mr. Lopez scoffs, running his hand over his hair. “Could you imagine what John could’ve been telling him? Could’ve been _doing_?”

    Mrs. Lopez clucks her tongue. “John wouldn’t touch his _brother_ ,” she asserts but that’s the only thing she deems needing correction.

    Everything starts fading out then. Her father keeps talking about how utterly revolting his own flesh and blood is, her mother nodding her head in agreement. John is 16 and even though they have a lot of family in Lima, _none_ of them would take him in, not now. “I shouldn’t have brought this up during dinner,” her mother says amidst the vile coming from Mr. Lopez’s mouth. “We’ve all lost our appetites.” She motions to Santana’s barely touched plate before pushing her own away.

    Santana can’t breathe but she doesn’t gasp, doesn’t leave, just succumbs to this drowning until Phyllis comes over to their table. “Is everything okay,” she asks and her father doesn’t even shut up then, just lowers his voice even more.

    “Could we get some boxes,” her mother asks politely and Santana is surprised she makes it to the bathroom to throw up.

\--

    Santana isn’t smiling when she opens Quinn’s bathroom door. Quinn looks up, her hands still pulling her hair up into a bun on top of her head. Santana stares at her for a moment before pulling off her shirt and kicking off her flip flops. It’s kind of weird seeing Santana so dressed down, in things that are loose and relaxed, and not something that molds to every curve of her body, but Santana has always been respectful when it comes to her parents and that means _not_ dressing like she normally does in their presence. Santana unbuttons her jeans and shoves them to her feet, stepping out of them as she reaches around and unhooks her bra.

    Quinn finds Santana’s relationship with her parents odd. Santana’s sort of always kept them at arms length which was for the best, Quinn guesses, because they worked so much, but close at the same time. Quinn’s never seen both of Santana’s parents at the same time but she has witnessed real conversations in the Lopez family and more love than Quinn thought could exist in a family.

    She bends her legs and Santana slides open the glass doors, stepping into the tub. Quinn gnaws on the inside of her cheek, debating if she should even ask why Santana’s here, but instead just watches her friend sink into the water, keeping her own legs close to her. “My mom left you a plate in the fridge,” Quinn says neutrally, picking up the book she had set down to pull her hair up.

    “What’d you have?” Santana’s voice is rough and strained, not bitchy or cocky like it normally is. Quinn’s eyes flick to Santana’s over the top of her book, noting that they’re neither glazed over or red.

    “Some sort of casserole.” Santana runs a hand through her hair and Quinn bookmarks her page before tossing the book back down, this time near Santana’s discarded jeans, when she notices that Santana’s hand is shaking.

    “You ate didn’t you? How do you not know what kind of casserole it was?” Santana’s eyebrow is arched and Quinn’s never really considered it before, but she thinks she might have learned that from her. When Quinn was transforming herself into _Quinn_ , she found herself copycatting different people. Copied her mother, her sister, other girls she’d see at the mall who she assumed were popular and obviously pretty. She watched ‘Mean Girls’ and _clearly_ took away the wrong message, but at 14, she knew that while it was a realistic depiction of high school life, the ending was complete bullshit.

    When she first met Santana at cheer camp the summer before freshmen year, Quinn recognized her as a threat to the new persona she created. Santana was pretty and secure and clearly someone looking to be in charge. She remembers Santana, with her eyebrow arched and arms folded harshly across her chest while Brittany introduced them, and how she frightened and intrigued Quinn at the same time. Lucy would’ve stayed in her place among the other faceless fat girls who somehow made it on to Sylvester’s squad at the mere sight of that eyebrow. Quinn, however, rolled her shoulders and somehow put Santana in her place over the course of six weeks. And maybe even stole that eyebrow thing along the way.

    Quinn shrugs. “I didn’t really eat it,” she admits, sinking lower into the water. “My mom asked me to go to therapy with her and Russell.”

    Santana stretches out her legs, feet running along Quinn’s hips when they’re fully extended. The tub isn’t big by any means, and she’s glad that it keeps Santana closer to her without making her seem too concerned. “Yeah, I gave your mom the head’s up that I’d be gone.” Santana licks her lips. “How’d it go?”

    “Did you see my mom when you came in,” she asks and Santana dips her head. Quinn’s hands find Santana’s shins under the soapy water. “Fiction.”

    Santana lets out a heavy sigh and Quinn thinks that, for once, she won’t participate in their coward’s game. But then Santana mutters, “I had a wonderful dinner with my parents.” She closes her eyes and lets her head lull against the tile wall. “Fact.”

    Quinn bites her bottom lip, taking in all of Santana she can see. She can only see from the ribs up, and her eyes trail the pink scar tissue that’s still visible between Santana’s chest. Santana isn’t as insecure about her scars as Quinn is about hers, since hers are attached to new, bigger boobs and Quinn’s are on a stomach that won’t go flat. “Your boobs look nice.” Santana’s eyes open immediately and Quinn can’t fight the small smile she gets when Santana manages to smirk a little bit.

    “My boobs are always amazing.” Her voice kind of cracks again and Quinn squeezes the skin beneath her fingertips. “Dinner was okay. Probably a lot better than any dinner you’ve hand with Judy but…” She lets out a heavy sigh  and shakes her head. “I guess my cousin John is gay too.”

    Quinn drags her nails along Santana’s tan skin. “I’m guessing your parents weren’t very fond of that.”

    Santana scoffs and ducks her head again. “I’ve never heard my father speak like that before.” Quinn tugs on Santana’s legs, silently urging her to come closer, but Santana shakes her head. “No. It’s fine. I’m sure you had a worse night and you shouldn’t be deflecting or whatever the fuck it is you’re doing now.”

    “Shut up,” Quinn says, punctuating her words with a slap against Santana’s knees. “If you want we can talk about my horrible dinner but I think you need this more.” Santana rolls her eyes but this time when Quinn leans forward, Santana lets Quinn take her shaking hands and pull her, more or less, in her lap.

    “If you wanted to fuck me again, all you had to do was ask.” Quinn swats her again but this time on Santana’s ass. “Wanky.”

    “Are you close with your cousin,” Quinn asks, trying to ignore the way Santana’s eyes are starting to gloss over.

    She shakes her head. “Not at all. We make awkward conversation at family gatherings. I don’t even have his cell phone num-” Santana’s words lodge in her throat and even though she doesn’t cry, her legs wrap tightly around Quinn. “My aunt kicked him out and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that this kid is out there, roaming Lima without anywhere to go… And how that kid could be me.” She thinks about lying, about assuring Santana that her cousin is fine, but Quinn knows no better than her. Santana brings her hands up to cover her face, fingertips digging into her eyes in a way that must hurt, and just when Quinn decides she has to do something (be it say something or simply pull Santana’s hands away), Santana shakes her head, her hands falling back into the water with a splash. “I think therapy could be good for you guys.”

    “Unlikely. I can _barely_ say what’s in my head to you and you expect me to share that with a stranger and my parents?”

    Quinn shakes her head as she stretches, pulling her arms over her head and a few drops of water fall on to Santana’s face. A single droplet catches along the side of Santana’s nose and it travels down to her lips where Santana catches it with her tongue. Santana is still shaking and Quinn thinks of bringing her closer; Right now there is still plenty of space between them and though she really just wants to hold Santana the way she was held yesterday in the very same shower, her mind thinks about what it’d be like to be pressed against Santana like that. She’s had sex with two people now but she never embraced either of them in such an intimate way. The only other person who comes close is the child that came from her body and that only serves to scare her away from holding another person like that.

    Santana slides her arms around Quinn’s neck once Quinn’s hands return to Santana’s waist. “Bargain with Judy. Maybe if you have some one on one with a shrink first, she’ll… I don’t know. Make sure Russell stays out of your group sessions for a bit?”

    “I’ll think about it,” Quinn answers as Santana slides a little closer until there is no space between them and Quinn can feel slick skin against hers.

    “Are you okay with this?” Santana’s eyes flick down to where their chests press together. It almost seems like an out of body experience; Quinn knows those are her breasts but then there are others there too, hard nipples and firmer, tanner flesh pressed against them, and this is never anything she thought she’d see. Quinn notices Santana chewing on the inside of her lip. Nodding, Quinn wraps her arms tightly around Santana and she feels the brunette exhale against her shoulder. “I’m really surprised this isn’t weird for you.” Santana is silent for a beat before she says, “But then again, you really surprised me when you fucked me so I guess this should be like seeing a cross around your neck.” Quinn knuckle punches Santana just below her ribs and Santana yelps, slapping Quinn’s shoulders. “Ow, you bitch! You know I had a shitty day and then you abuse me?”

    “We both had crappy days and you’re ruining whatever semblance of a moment we were having.”

    Santana rolls her eyes before pushing herself away from Quinn. She stands up then and, naturally, laughs when she notices Quinn’s blushing. “You seemed pretty eager to have your face down there a few days ago,” Santana says, hands falling to her hips as she smirks down at Quinn.

    Quinn’s eyebrows drop but she continues to stare at Santana’s face rather than what’s directly in front of her. “If I didn’t think you’d enjoy it, I’d twat swat you right now.” Santana _snorts_ as she steps out of the tub, sidestepping Quinn’s book at the last second.

    “I never thought I’d hear you say twat.” Santana digs underneath the sink before pulling out a spare towel. “And you didn’t even think twice about smacking my ass earlier and I can tell you that I _certainly_ like that.”

    Quinn watches as Santana dries off her torso before toweling off her legs. She’s stopped shaking and the tears Quinn was terrified would fall retreated before Santana even stood up. But Santana still chews on the inside of her lip and it’s bugging Quinn more than she thought it would. “Do you want to drink tonight?”

    “I figured I’d save getting wasted on a Tuesday till college,” Santana answers, tossing Quinn the towel when she stands up.

    Santana goes about the bathroom, pulling out a wet cloth to remove her make up and then fishing a hair tie out of the pocket of her jeans. Quinn simply watches with the towel tucked around her and it’s not until Santana looks at her questioningly that she asks, “Do you want to have sex?”

    She’s not sure if it surprises her or not that Santana doesn’t even flinch once the question leaves her mouth. “With you?” Quinn’s shoulders drop just enough for Santana’s eyes to widen. “Oh god, I only asked because we said we weren’t going to do that again. Please don’t get a complex.”

    Quinn sits down on the toilet and picks up Santana’s clothes, folding them on her lap. “I slept with you because I wanted to make you feel better and you still seem… off. And I know that booze and sex help you the most.” She glances at Santana who is simply staring at her and Quinn drops the stack of clothes on to the counter. “Forget it.”

    “Having sex with a friend is what got me feeling so shitty,” Santana says when Quinn stands up.

    “It was a stupid suggestion.” Quinn smiles a bit when Santana looks at her and pulls her hair out of its bun. “Come on. We’ll watch bad reality tv like normal people.”

\--

    She doesn’t know what time it is but she’s been laying in complete silence since Quinn turned off the tv a while ago. Quinn hasn’t moved next to her but her breathing hasn’t fallen into the pattern Santana’s grown accustom to over the past few months.

    What happened at dinner tonight is not what’s keeping her up, she _knows_ that. Her parents didn’t surprise her in the least bit and, yes, she’s mildly worried about her cousin. But she knows that he’s likely already figured some where out to go and that, if need be, she could give herself peace of mind with a call to CPS the next morning.

    Quinn’s fingers flex against her stomach and Santana looks over at her. They barely said anything once they collapsed on Quinn’s bed. It feels like a step back and she sighs loud enough for Quinn to peek open an eye. “Are we okay?”

    Sleepily, Quinn murmurs, “You ask that too much,” before rolling away from Santana.

    “That’s because we fuck up like crazy,” Santana says, fingers wrapping around Quinn’s elbow. “I’ll have sex with you.”

    “Don’t sound so excited,” Quinn drawls. “I don’t _have_ to sleep with you, Santana.”

    Santana pulls Quinn’s arm but the bitch stays rooted to her spot. “Look,” Santana starts, straddling Quinn’s hip. The blonde lightly punches her in the stomach but Santana catches her hand. “Do you want me to say that I’ll fuck you? Because, yes, we’re friends, but in case you _haven’t_ looked in a mirror, you’re insanely hot. No, you’re _gorgeous_. Having sex with you will not be a chore. But we’re also all we have, Quinn. I _can’t_ lose you.” Quinn rolls so that she’s flat on her back but Santana stays where she’s at, eyeing Santana carefully. She feels like she’s being inspected and, god, she hates that she can’t read Quinn. “So if you honestly think that we can do this like Puck and I used to, then we can. But you have to fucking promise me that this won’t get weird.”

    Quinn stays silent before the corner of her lips quirk up just a bit. “That sounded like a more vulgar version of a speech from ‘A Walk to Remember’.”

    Santana pinches Quinn’s side. “I’m being serious, ass!”

    Quinn laughs a little and pushes Santana off her. “We don’t have to have sex.” Quinn lets out a breath. “It was a bright spot,” she says quietly, burrowing her face into her pillow. “That’s all.”

    Quinn goes to roll away from her again but this time she stops when Santana hooks her hand underneath the strap of her tank top. She can’t think of anything else to do right now and so she kisses Quinn, running her tongue lightly over Quinn’s lip. She intends to leave it as that, intends to roll over and actually try to sleep now, but instead she finds her hands tangling in blonde hair that’s different but not new, her leg fitting between creamy thighs she’s never experienced.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! An update! Anyway, I'm half in love with this chapter, half unsure. I hope you guys enjoy it either way. ALSO, I had planned for this story to be 10 chapters but it's looking like it's going to be 15 now.

Santana wakes the next morning when Quinn gets up for work. It takes her four hours to track down her cousin. Really, it’s a stroke of luck that she found him considering she’s never been close with him and, though she got his number from a family friend, her aunt had already disconnected it. But she found him, down at the local pool where he’s apparently been life guarding all summer.  
  
    She takes him back to the Fabray household for some food and Judy, who once again shouldn’t be home but is, greets him brightly and makes the both of them lunch.  
  
    John assures her that he’s okay as he can be and tells her about the family he’s staying with. “They’re good people. We talked a lot last night and they’ve agreed to keep me until graduation.” Santana’s not too sure just how long that will last but John goes on to talk about the family and they do genuinely sound like they won’t fuck over her cousin like his own parents did.  
  
    They eat and Santana spends the entire time debating whether or not she should still put in a call to CPS but by the time they’ve finished, she decides against it. If her cousin really does have a good thing going for him, she doesn’t want to mess that up by throwing him into the system, even if that means her aunt doesn’t even get a slap on the wrist.  
  
    She takes him back to his new home with leftovers that Judy sent him with and makes him promise to call her if things go wrong for any reason. He hugs her before he gets out of the car. After getting passed the initial shock, she kind of melts and hugs him like she actually gave a shit before all of this came to light.  
  
    Judy calls her into the living room when she gets back and even though she really just wants to go kind of collapse on Quinn’s bed, she falls on to the opposite end of the couch. “Your cousin was very polite.” Santana nods. She watches as Judy wrings her fingers in her hand and watches as Judy realizes what she’s doing, relaxing her hands and running them over her slacks. “Did you know that Lima only has one homeless shelter?”  
  
    “I didn’t.”  
  
    Gazing out the window across the room from them, Judy sighs. “I’m not sure you’ll believe this and I strongly doubt Quinn would, but I looked for her the night after Russell kicked her out… I told him I had to run to the store because I forgot coffee creamer. I could never make heads or tail of not finding her there. Wasn’t sure if I was happy she had somewhere else to go or if I was sad that she might be on the street.” Santana can’t tell if the sunlight spilling into the room and reflecting off Judy’s eyes is playing tricks on her. Judy presses a hand to her cheek, fingers wiping carefully just under Judy’s eye. “Will your cousin be alright?”  
  
    “I think so.”  
  
    Judy nods. “Good.” Her hand falls back to her lap. Her body inflates with her next breath. “Russell agreed to go to therapy with me. I spoke to a therapist who could council the two of us but also give Quinn her own sessions if she decides to go.”  
  
    “What if the therapist tells you things you don’t want to hear,” Santana asks and Judy finally looks at her again.  
  
    “I expect that she will. But I owe it to Quinn and to myself to do something that will benefit our family.”  
  
    It must be because John hugged her earlier but she’s overcome with this need to show Judy that she’s proud of her for realizing this. But that’s weird and frankly, she doesn’t think she wants to be the literal shoulder Judy can cry on so instead, before her mind can catch up with her mouth, says, “I’m gay.”  
  
    A soft smile forms on Judy’s face. “I know, Santana.”  
  
    Santana pulls her legs closer to her chest, her breathing a little harder than it was before. “You’re the first person I said that to.”  
  
    Judy hesitantly puts her hand on Santana’s knee. Santana tries not to flinch but fails and Judy pulls back. “You’re an amazing woman, Santana, and I’m proud of you for having the courage to tell me of all people that.” Santana swallows hard and tilts her head back to try and keep the tears pooling in her eyes at bay. “I know my track record is not great and I have a lot to prove, but just like I promise to always be there for Quinn from here on out, I’m here for you too.”  
  
    A sob tears from her throat and this time Santana doesn’t flinch when Judy hugs her.  
  
\--  
  
    Santana’s laying out in Quinn’s bed like usual by the time the blonde comes home. “How was your day?”  
  
    Quinn kind of shrugs before pulling her dress over her head. “It was nothing special. How about yours?”  
  
    Quinn sits on the edge of the bed, untying her wedge sandals, looking back at Santana expectantly. Deciding there’s no point in starting to hold back now, Santana rolls her shoulders back. “Well, I found my cousin. Made sure he was alright. Talked to your mom a bit which resulted in a disgusting display of emotions on my part. Then I kind of came up here and took a nap before watching Chopped.” Quinn’s face screws up and Santana finds herself nodding. “I told your mom I was gay.”   
  
    She witnesses Quinn’s eyes soften when she says that. Quinn kicks off her shoes and then crawls up next to Santana. “You’ve never said that before.”  
  
    Santana lets out a breath that almost could’ve been a laugh. “And now I’ve said it twice in one day.” Quinn squeezes Santana’s arm. “Your mom hugged me… Told me she was proud of me.”  
  
    Something flashes over Quinn’s face and then, completely unexpectedly, Quinn says, “I think I’ll go to therapy.” Santana’s eyes widen and Quinn nods firmly. “Kind of begrudgingly, but if you can do that… Can.” Quinn cuts herself off and takes a breath. “I think I can do it if you can do that.”  
  
    Santana uses her weight to roll Quinn on to her back, sliding so she rests between the blonde’s legs. Even though this is only the third time they’ve done this, Quinn’s left seems to part naturally, expectantly, and if Santana weren’t so focused on what Quinn just agreed to, she’d probably smirk. Instead, she rests her weight on one arm, allowing the other to whisper down Quinn’s waist, hip, thigh. “I’m going to do something new, okay?” Wearily, Quinn nods and Santana pulls off Quinn’s underwear. “I promise it’ll feel good.”  
  
    Lowering herself down, Santana kisses directly between Quinn’s collarbone and going straight down Quinn’s body until her breath hits the small patch of hair between Quinn’s legs. She feels Quinn tense beneath her lips before she hears a shaky, “Are you sure about this?” Santana looks up and Quinn stares at the ceiling, Quinn’s fingers twiddling against her stomach. “I showered this morning but then I went to work so…”  
  
    Santana bites her lip to hold back her laugh. “You work at a bookstore, Q. Trust me, this is totally okay.” Santana places her thumb just above Quinn’s clit and pulls it back so the warm skin is taunt. Directly, Santana kisses Quinn’s pussy and this time, when Quinn lets out this _super_ breathy sigh, Santana allows the smirk to form on her face. “You smell amazing. And besides, you just made a really big and good decision. You deserve this.” Santana lays her tongue flat, drags it through Quinn’s folds and flicking once she reaches Quinn’s clit. She looks up when she repeats the motion, grinning when Quinn’s fingers flex and freeze once Santana sucks Quinn’s clit into her mouth.  
  
    She tries a few different things before setting into a pattern that has Quinn’s hips moving so much more than when Santana fingers her. She can tell Quinn is holding back, her fists pushing down on her belly to try and keep herself still and Santana pulls away nosily. “Let go,” Santana tells her, huffing when Quinn shakes her head. Two fingers slide in with ease and Quinn’s breath hitches in a way that makes Santana curl her fingers just a little more. “If you need to ride my face, go for it. Like I said, you earned this.”  
  
    Quinn kicks Santana in the side. “Don’t be so vulgar.”  
  
    Santana’s lids drop as she fixes Quinn with a look. “Vulgar? Quinn, I’m _eating you out_. I can’t think of a more appropriate time to be vulgar.” Quinn’s pink face starts turning a shade darker and Santana laughs a little to herself. “Besides, if I was going to be vulgar, I’d comment on how your face matches the color of your p-”  
  
    Quinn’s hand, which had tangled in Santana’s hair, pushes her back down. Santana ducks her head just so, laughing heartily but keeps working her fingers in and out of Quinn quickly so there’s no room for complaint. Quinn groans and her back arches, bringing Santana back to the task at hand. She traces along Quinn’s clit lightly before removing her fingers and replacing them with her tongue. The thighs on either side of her head jump and she thrusts a few times, basking in the myriad of noises coming from her friend.  
  
    Quinn’s hips start to move a little more and as a reward, Santana firmly presses her tongue against Quinn’s clit, darting it from side to side rhythmically. Quinn only gets louder and that’s when Santana says fuck it and shakes her head from side to side in time with her tongue. Pushing Santana’s face even more against her pussy, Quinn releases and Santana knows that when she pulls away, her chin will be absolutely dripping with Quinn’s cum.  
  
    It takes two minutes for Quinn to catch her breath. By then, Santana is laying beside her again and Quinn’s head lolls to look at her and ask, “If therapy sucks, will you do that again?”  
  
    “If you can work on not being so damned embarrassed about what your body wants to feel good, I’ll do that whenever the fuck you want.”  
  
    Quinn slowly crosses her arms under her head. “I was raised to think sex was dirty.”  
  
    “Sex _is_ dirty,” Santana agrees. “But didn’t dirty feel amazing?” Quinn smiles a little and nods. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling good and feeling good because you’re being eaten out is normal. And there’s gonna be a ton more shit that will make you feel good that you just don’t know about yet and that’s all going to be normal too.” She pauses for a beat. “Well, unless you’re into animals, kids, or dead people.”  
  
    Quinn knuckle punches her but it’s soft and Santana smiles. “I don’t get how you can be so comfortable with your body and with sex.”  
  
    “Trust me. When you’ve had as much sex as I’ve had, you learn that the _only_ thing that matters is what feels good.”  
  
    Quinn stays quiet for a little while, only playing with the tips of Santana’s hair that had fallen against her arm and breathing. Finally she looks up at Santana, her eyebrow cocked just so. “Could we try new things then? To find out what I like and to get comfortable?”  
  
    “That’s like asking me if I want to watch a show with Jersey in the title.” Santana pushes at Quinn’s hip. “Roll over. There’s something I’d bet money on your repressed ass loving.”  
  
\--  
  
    “Quinn, unless you plan on telling me that you intend to harm yourself or someone else, I legally can not tell your parents anything you say during our sessions. I don’t know how else to stress that.”  
  
    She hates this office. It reminds her too much of her father’s den (all the books on Dr. Karl’s bookshelves look exactly like the ones that lined her father’s shelves even though she knows that realistically, if she inspected them, they’d be different. The desk set however, with its gold swirls on dark oak, is exactly the same one they gave her father for his birthday the year he kicked her out). A shiver runs through her and Dr. Karl raises an eyebrow. “It’s cold in here,” Quinn states. It’s not freezing but she is wearing a dress and it would suffice for anyone else. However, Dr. Karl’s eyebrow stays arched as she licks her lips.  
  
    “You’re uncomfortable.”  
  
    Quinn narrows her eyes. “I don’t think it’s a secret that I don’t really want to be here.”  
  
    “You’ve definitely made that clear,” Dr. Karl quips with a small smile, reclining in her chair. She taps her pen against her chin as she stares at Quinn. Usually, Quinn will make eye contact to a fault because generally, looking away is a sign of weakness (you can’t control someone if you’re looking anywhere but their eyes), but the way Dr. Karl matches it scares her. It reminds her of Shelby. “But this is our third session and yet you’re still as tense and rigid as the first time you sat down in that chair.” Dr. Karl sits up straight again, mimicking Quinn’s posture. “Don’t you get uncomfortable sitting like this for an hour?”  
  
    “Nope. I never slouch.” Dr. Karl tosses her pen on to the desk and it lands next to the letter opener, glinting in the light coming in from the window. Dr. Karl must notice because she runs her hand over the letter opener before folding her hands on the desk.  
  
    “You know, your father mentioned that he has this desk set during his session with your mother.” Dr. Karl tilts her head just so and Quinn can see the grey coming in at her roots. Quinn looks Dr. Karl in the eye. She thinks of chewing on the inside of her cheek but she refuses to give Dr. Karl anything more to work with. “Would you feel more comfortable if I put all this in my desk?”  
  
    “I’d feel more comfortable not here.”  
  
    Dr. Karl starts putting everything in a drawer Quinn can’t see. “Anything else we can do to make this room better for you?” Quinn stares at her. “Even if it sounds outlandish, tell me.”  
  
    “Why? So you can have me do an exercise?”  
  
    “Or we can just do whatever it is you tell me.”  
  
    Quinn purses her lips and looks around the room. “This entire room is the problem. Finding a room not like this would help.” Dr. Karl stands up, this time Quinn arching an eyebrow. “Not that I’d talk to you more. I don’t need this.” Dr. Karl starts taking her books off the shelves, letting them land loudly on the desk. “What are you doing?”  
  
    “Changing the room.” She makes quick work of the shelf and then pops out the wood, tossing that on top of her heap of books.  
  
    “This is your office. That’s insane.”  
  
    Dr. Karl shrugs and starts on another shelf. “Even if you’re not going to talk to me, you’re going to be coming here for a while. I’d rather you not mess up your back being so tense all the time. If that means changing superficial things like this,” Dr. Karl says, turning around as she takes a breath and pushing her hair out of her face, “then why wouldn’t I do it?”  
  
    Quinn holds her breath and shakes her head discretely. She wants to cry, going so far that she briefly considers actually doing it. After all, this woman, whom she’s only met three times, is already willing to make more sacrifices for her than her own parents; she deserves _something_. But crying… Quinn closes her eyes and thinks back to when Santana held her. As much as she needed that, Quinn’s embarrassed to think of that moment now. She was weak.  
  
    Quinn swallows the lump in her throat. Dr. Karl, who had continued taking down her shelves and shelves of books, looks over at Quinn when Quinn starts taking the books off the highest shelf. Dr. Karl smiles at her and thankfully doesn’t say anything else for another ten minutes.  
  
\--  
  
    The door next to her opens and her index finger slips between the pages of her book to save her place. Normally Quinn looks ready to kill after her sessions but now her face is relatively relaxed. Others would probably think it’s a blank look but Santana knows there’s something else to it. Unlike before, something must’ve actually happened during the session today and, frankly, it’s about fucking time. “Ready to go,” Quinn asks and Santana nods, dog-earing her page before tossing the book into her bag.  
  
    Santana gives Quinn the walk to the car before she speaks. “So, what happened,” she asks as they buckle their seatbelts. Quinn shrugs, sliding on tortoise-shell sunglasses that hide most of her face. Santana pulls on to the road and swats Quinn’s hand when she tries to turn up the radio. “Look, I’m not asking for all the dirty details, but you’re different today.” Quinn looks out towards the passing streets silently. “We said we were gonna try that sharing shit, right?”  
  
    Quinn lets out a breath. “We took apart her office.”  
  
    “What the fuck?”  
  
    Quinn tucks her hair behind her ears then pulls down the visor to check her appearance. “It reminded me of my dad’s office so she completely changed the room for me.” Quinn clears her throat. “I really didn’t say much but something tells me I told her a lot.”  
  
    Santana nods. “’Bout time you did something other than stare at her.” She waits a beat. “Think you’ll actually talk to her next week?” The other girl nods and Santana feels her cheeks twitch but she doesn’t let the smile show.  
  
    “Thank you for coming with me.” Santana glances over at Quinn and though she can’t see Quinn’s eyes, Santana knows that she’s being looked at. “I know you’re just-”  
  
    Shaking her head, Santana tells her to shut up. “You know I don’t do shit during the day and even if I did, I’d still go. Friends do that. I think.”  
  
    She can see Quinn move out of the corner of her eyes, hand raising towards her and she thinks Quinn might try to touch her. Instead, Quinn flips up the visor and stares out the windshield.  
  
\--  
  
    “How’s your summer been? Excluding everything that’s happening with your parents.”  
  
    Today they’re sitting across from each other on the floor. “Different,” Quinn says before she can analyze all the different ways Dr. Karl can interpret her answer.  
  
    “What have you been doing to fill your time?”  
  
    Quinn lets her head fall to the side just a bit. “Working. Hanging out with people.” She shrugs and Dr. Karl makes a note on the pad next to her.  
  
    “And that’s different?”  
  
    Quinn narrows her eyes and leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “I’m telling you this of my own accord, not being of your carefully selected questions intended to lead me.”  
  
    The doctor smiles. “You’re going to fight me tooth and nail and that’s okay.”  
  
    A silent snort. “Well, I am my father’s daughter.” Dr. Karl goes to write something else down but stops when Quinn shakes her head. “Can you please stop doing that? I know it’s part of your job but I can guarantee you it’s going to make me clam up.” Dr. Karl nods, pushing the legal pad and pen underneath the desk her back rests against. Quinn takes a deep breath. “Last summer, I spent with my daughter.” She pauses, expecting Dr. Karl to ask her something else but when she’s met with an interested stare, Quinn swallows hard. “I wanted to be her mom so bad. And I was good at it, great at it I think, but I knew that I wouldn’t be good down the road.”  
  
    “What do you mean?”  
  
    “You’ve met my parents. I’m sure you’ve heard a lot more than I’ve offered. That was my model. I didn’t know how to be a mom anymore than I knew how to be someone’s friend.”  
  
    “You’ve recognized that you don’t want to be a parent like your own. Don’t you think that you would’ve broken the cycle rather than continued it,” Dr. Karl counters.  
  
    Quinn picks at a loose thread on the hem of her dress, shaking her head. “Up until this summer, I never had a real friend. I didn’t know how to maintain a genuine, platonic relationship. I’m still not sure I know how… If it’s taken me 17 years to attempt to sort that out, I can only imagine how long it will take me to figure out the mom I want to and should be.”  
  
    “That’s fair.” Dr. Karl stretches her legs before crossing her ankles. “So what happened to your daughter?”  
  
    Quinn quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t you already know the answer to that?”  
  
    “I do. But only because your parents love to avoid that subject.”  
  
    “It’s amazing how well we can pretend something didn’t happen or doesn’t exist, isn’t it?” She laughs but there’s no humor. “I’m sure you could write a book on us.”  
  
    Dr. Karl stares at her for a moment, cocks her head to the side. “Do you want to pretend your daughter doesn’t exist?”  
  
    “I just want things to be different. I don’t like not thinking about her but I don’t like thinking about her either.”  
  
    “Do you wish you hadn’t gone through with your pregnancy?”  
  
    Quinn shakes her head. “Not anymore, no. Once I gave birth and saw her, I knew that I’d done the right thing. Even though I can’t make sense of myself, I don’t regret having her… She makes sense, even if she doesn’t quite make sense to me.”  
  
    “Have you talked to anyone about her? Obviously your parents aren’t open to discussing her but the father, perhaps? The girl who sits outside all of your appointments?”  
  
    “Santana…” Quinn weighs her head from side to side before pulling her feet closer to her body. “And Puck… Puck would be angry if he knew that I took care of Beth that summer.” Quinn checks the wall behind Dr. Karl only to remember that the woman doesn’t keep a clock in the room. There’s only the watch around Dr. Karl’s wrist. “He wouldn’t understand that I could physically raise Beth but not mentally.”  
  
    “No one else?”  
  
    “No.”  
  
    Dr. Karl takes a swing from her water bottle then points it towards the door. “That girl Santana?” With Quinn’s nod, Dr. Karl twists the cap back on the bottle. “How long have you been friends?”  
  
    “I’ve known her since my freshmen year.”  
  
    “How long have you been friends,” Dr. Karl repeats.  
  
    “Conventionally, and I use that loosely, since May, I think.”  
  
    Dr. Karl glances at her watch. “Do you trust her?”  
  
    Instantly Quinn responds that she does. “I wouldn’t have done a lot of things this summer if I didn’t. I sure as hell wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”  
  
    A smile appears on Dr. Karl’s face when she glances back at her watch. “Time’s up.” The two stand and Dr. Karl walks her to the door. Santana looks up at Quinn once she steps through the doorway, only directing her attention on the older woman when Dr. Karl sticks out her hand. “Santana, I’m Dr. Karl.” Quinn looks wearily at Dr. Karl and can only shrug when Santana arches her brow in question. Santana shakes her hand and Dr. Karl grins. “Will you join us for a portion of our next session?”  
  
    “Why,” Quinn blurts before Santana can.  
  
    Dr. Karl crosses her arms beneath her chest. “Because you two are going to talk about Beth.”  
  
\--  
  
    God she hates what her life is now. She spends all day inside, vegging out, only venturing outside of the Fabray house to go to Mitch’s (which stupidly reminds her of Brittany and that just makes her angry) or to Quinn’s therapist’s office. Really, most of her days aren’t different from what she has been doing, it is driving her absolutely insane. Going out into town means there is a risk of running into Brittany and the thought of running into Brittany terrifies the shit out of her. She’s not strong enough to turn Brittany away if Brittany approached her and to see Brittany turn away from her would kill her. This of course just makes her angry because, _what the fuck_ happened to her being a strong independent woman?  
  
    Anyway, that’s how she ends up here, in this smelly fucking bookstore, helping Quinn with her work for free.  
  
    The bell over the front door chimes and even though Santana stays in the stacks, practically hidden from sight, she knows that it’s Puck who just came in. There’s no warm greeting, no greeting at all actually, but instead there are whispers followed by a small laugh from Quinn. Santana walks back to the cart she left at the front of the row and she looks curiously at her friends at the front desk.  
  
    Puck stands next to Quinn and though they’re both sorting books, Santana can see only one of Puck’s hands. The other one is on Quinn’s ass, Santana’d bet her life on that, and she wonders if it’s resting on the one she saw turn red under her palm last night and if Puck even knows that’s something Quinn likes.  
  
    The book in her hands falls loudly on to the cart and Quinn and Puck look up at her. “Hey Santana,” Puck says coolly. Quinn stares at her with wide eyes for only a second before her face twists, giving Santana a look that Santana doesn’t want to read into.  
  
    Santana juts her chin out in acknowledgement, picking the book up again. “How’s Lauren, Puck?”  
  
    “Santana,” Quinn warns but Santana simply shrugs, arching an eyebrow when Puck shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  
  
    “In her last week of wrestling camp.”  
  
    “Oh,” Santana remarks, “Only one week left to fuck around then.”  
  
    Puck clears his throat. “Hey, how’s Brittany?”  
  
    Santana’s fingers dig into her palm and is about to hurl the book in front of her at that jackass when Quinn slams her hand against the desk. “ _Enough!_ ” The two of them flinch and Quinn glares between the two as she gathers books angrily in her arms. “God, I never should have told either of you anything.” Quinn stalks off into the office, slamming the door shut behind her.  
  
    Santana moves down to the next aisle, only looking back at Puck when he softly says, “Sorry. That wasn’t right.”  
  
    “I’m not apologizing just because you did,” Santana informs him. “I don’t know what exactly your deal is with Quinn but I know how this ends and I’m tired of seeing that girl shit on.”  
  
    Puck leans against the bookcase Santana is currently organizing and though Santana knows he’s staring at her, she’s not going to return his gaze. “What if I chose her?”  
  
    “You could, and you’d probably be okay for a bit. But then you’ll realize that she can’t give you what you want and you’ll both be fucked.” Santana squats down to rearrange two books on the bottom shelf. “Or maybe that’s what you guys need. I don’t know.” She shakes her head and stands back up, finally looking at him and staring straight in his eyes.  
  
    Puck arches an eyebrow. “When did you start caring so much about Quinn?”  
  
    “Doesn’t matter, point is that I do.” Her hands find their way to her hips. “Your girlfriend comes back in a week. By the time she does, you better have cut Quinn lose or have your break up speech ready for Lauren.”  
  
\--  
  
    “Puck wants to date,” Quinn states as they walk into her room.  
  
    For the rest of Quinn’s shift, Santana stuck to alphabetizing the children’s section (it needed the most work since the little snot-nosed kids don’t know how to put things back properly) so she didn’t have to look at Quinn and Puck being all… _Quinn and Puck._ “When’d he say this?”  
  
    “When you went to get us lunch.”  
  
    Santana peels off her clothes as Quinn lays out on the bed, her legs hanging over the side and her dress pulled up high enough to show her underwear. Just shy of nude, Santana sits down next to her with her shoulders hunched. “You gonna tell him about Beth?” Santana’s met with silence and she sighs heavily. “Are _we_ gonna talk about her?”  
  
    Santana feels Quinn move but she doesn’t turn to look at her. After a minute or so, Quinn admits, “I don’t know what to say.”  
  
    “Your doctor should’ve given us starting points or some shit.”  
  
    Quinn laughs just a little. “This is so stupid.”  
  
    Looking back, Santana shakes her head. “We’re the stupid ones. All she wants us to do is talk and we don’t even know how to start.”  
  
    Quinn swallows hard and starts playing with a loose thread on her belt. “This is why I knew I couldn’t raise her.” It comes out barely above a whisper. “I could’ve done the basic things. Make sure she was well fed, clean, clothes. Make sure she got enough sleep. But once she got bigger… Once I had to teacher her things… I knew I wouldn’t do it right. I don’t know what right is.”  
  
    “My aunt told me that you never know what to do with the first one. Basically said that was your tester child. The one that you’d mess up a little bit.” Santana rolls her eyes, shrugs. “Sucks and explains why I’m all funky.”  
  
    “Yeah, but doesn’t that require knowing how to function as a person at least?”  
  
    Santana really doesn’t know how to respond to that. Truthfully, they both know that Quinn made the right decision giving Beth up, even though it meant Quinn was choosing sadness over happiness. Sliding her palm down Quinn’s arm and grasping her hand, Santana ignores the tear that slides across the bridge of Quinn’s nose before falling on to the sheet below. “You realize you’re a strong ass bitch right?” Quinn laughs, shaking her head as she pushes Santana away. “I’m serious! Like, we may both be functionally retarded but you sacrificed your own happiness for the greater good or whatever. I’m pretty sure that makes you strong.”  
  
    “Don’t have a whole lot to show for that though, do I?” The way Quinn says it… It’s not even that sad, just like she’s stating facts, but god, it’s shitty. Because Quinn should have a hell of a lot more than she does.  
  
    That’s why, against her better judgment, Santana props herself up on her elbows and says, “We gotta stop fucking then.”  
  
    She really doesn’t _want_ to stop sleeping with Quinn. At all. But she wants Quinn to have something normal for once and well, she knows it’s healthier for her to stop sleeping with her friends. Especially since she had that weird… she’s not even sure if jealous is the appropriate word, but that _moment_ in the bookstore earlier.  
  
    Quinn furrows her eyebrows. “Why?”  
  
    “Well, if you’re gonna date Puck, you have to do it right,” Santana says. “Right?”  
  
    Gnawing on her bottom lip, Quinn half nods, half shrugs. “I suppose you’re right.” She looks at the length of Santana’s body and asks, “That mean you’re putting clothes on?”  
  
    “Pft.” Santana drops back down on the mattress. “I’ll put on a bra if you really want me to, but I lounged practically naked in front of you before you fingered me.”  
  
\--  
  
    “So,” Dr. Karl says as she sits behind her desk, “did you girls talk about Beth?”  
  
    She’s not looking at Quinn but instead at Santana, who Quinn notices is slumped awkwardly in the chair beside her. “A bit, yeah,” Santana answers, gripping the arm rests tightly like she’s being interrogated. Quinn would laugh if they were anywhere else.  
  
    “And how was that for you, Quinn?”  
  
    She shrugs. “I’ve talked about her with Santana before. This time wasn’t any different.”  
  
    “Would either of you mind telling me what exactly you talked about?”  
  
    All Quinn has to do is lock eyes with Santana and the other girl straightens up a little bit while Quinn’s own foot begins tapping rhythmically. “What she did was right, but that doesn’t make her miss Beth any less.” Santana runs a hand through her hair, glances down at her feet before looking back at her. “You just need time, I think. And good things, like, not shitty parents.” The corner of her lips quirk up despite herself and she notices Dr. Karl make a note on the legal pad in front of her.  
  
    “What are some good things in your life? Things that make you happy.”  
  
    Her foot pauses just for a second as she thinks before bouncing just a little bit faster. “My job. I guess my grades. Santana… Puck too.”  
  
    Dr. Karl nods and then leans back in her office chair. “When was the last time you were really happy? Not just okay, but great.”  
  
    “Two days ago,” she answers, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.  
  
    “And what were you doing?”  
  
    She knows that if she answers truthfully, Dr. Karl will turn it into something way bigger than it is. Quinn knows that she’s _not_ gay, not that there would be anything wrong with her if she were, but she’s not. She thinks that if she allowed herself to, she’d sleep with Puck. The only reason she hasn’t initiated that is because he is still with Lauren and she’s trying to be a better person than she’s been. There’s also the fact that she knows she needs to be honest with him before going down that path again.  
  
    Dr. Karl looks at her expectantly and Santana has already started to fidget next to her. With a glance, Quinn knows that Santana’s already figured it out. “I don’t want to lie to you,” Quinn answers.  
  
    “Remember, what you say is between us. If it involved drinking, drugs… That’s between us in the room.”  
  
    Quinn rolls her eyes. “That’s not it. It was nothing illegal. I just know that you’re going to make it into a big deal and it’s not.”  
  
    “If you don’t want to tell me what it was, that’s fine. But is it possible for you to do that thing regularly?”  
  
    A bark of laughter erupts from Santana and she instantly apologizes. “Oh god, you so wouldn’t be suggesting that if you knew what it was,” Santana laughs, wiping away the tears that have formed in the corners of her eyes.  
  
    “Shut up. It’s not that funny.”  
  
    “Q, it’s _hilarious_ and you know it.”  
  
    Dr. Karl looks between them skeptically, tapping her finger against her chin. After a moment, she sets her elbows on her desk, leaning towards the girls just a little bit. “May I ask who was with you during this?”  
  
    Quinn crosses her arms underneath her chest. “Santana and there is _nothing_ more to it other than the fact that I felt great,” Quinn snaps. She doesn’t feel bad about the amount of bite in her voice.  
  
    Santana clears her throat awkwardly but they both stare at the woman who seems less stunned than Quinn thought she would be. “Have you had sex with a man since your daughter?” The phrasing isn’t lost on her.  
  
    “No.”  
  
    Dr. Karl scribbles something down, apologizes as she does so since she knows it makes Quinn uncomfortable. “Has the opportunity presented itself?”  
  
    Santana scoffs, motioning between the two of them. “The opportunity _always_ presents itself for girls like us.”  
  
    The older woman puts her hands up and relaxes back into her seat. “Santana, if you’d like, you can leave now. Thank you for joining us.” Quinn doesn’t look at Santana when she stands up but when Santana squeezes her shoulder when she passes. Her eyes close and focus on the feeling even after the door has clicked shut behind Santana.  
  
    Before Dr. Karl can say anything, Quinn states, “I’m not gay.”  
  
    “I didn’t say you were.” When she opens her eyes, Dr. Karl is rounding her desk and then sits in Santana’s vacant seat. “I just want to reiterate that this is a safe space for you, Quinn. I’m not here to judge you or tattle on you.” She worries that Dr. Karl will try to touch her next and _no_. She leans toward the other side of her seat. “Are you scared of having sex with a man?”  
  
    Quinn’s eyebrows knit together. “No. Of course not. Why would I be?”  
  
    “The last time you did resulted in a lot of emotional trauma. It wouldn’t be unusual if you were.” Having Dr. Karl so close starts making her skin crawl and Quinn shifts in her seat, pressing her arms tighter against her body.  
  
    “I know I like to be difficult, but I promise you, this is not one of those times. I’m not scared of having sex with Puck again and honestly, once we get our act together, I probably will. I have a healthier relationship with my body now than I ever have, which is saying something because I still don’t like my body.”  
  
 Dr. Karl nods, and runs a hand through her hair and Quinn notices for the first time the graying strands at her temple. “Your mother mentioned you had an eating disorder for a period of time.”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
    “When’d that change?”  
  
    “When I found out I was pregnant.”  
  
    A smile forms on Dr. Karl’s face and Quinn thinks is utterly disturbing the way it carries into the next question. “Do you ever get the urge to purge now?”  
  
    “No,” she answers with a firm shake of her head. “Well, I mean, there are times when I stop myself from eating too much or where I second guess eating what I’m eating. But I haven’t made myself thrown up in over… two years now. No matter how difficult my mother makes it.” Dr. Karl arches an eyebrow, the smile now gone. “My mom will comment about what I’m eating… Sometimes comment on my weight.” Quinn shrugs it off. She knows it is a big deal but she’s not sure she’s ready to start actually talking about her family. She’d rather go back to talking about her sex life.  
  
    “Did you and your mother share a lot prior to your falling out?”  
  
    “God no. She was always closer to my sister and I was a daddy’s girl… I can really only remember ever talking to my mom about superficial things or my appearance and what was wrong with it.”  
  
    Dr. Karl glances down at her watch and frowns. “We’re just about out of time, but if you’re comfortable with it, I think it’s time we move on to talking about your parents next session. And in the mean time, I’d like for you to at least have a small conversation with your mom each day. Even if it’s just asking how each other’s day was.”  
  
    Quinn doesn’t even attempt to hide her sigh. Standing up, she tells Dr. Karl she’ll see her in two days.  
  



End file.
